cesf Comfort 





-'1--.,^ 



Copyright N". 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



^t mmmv of comfott 



REV. DR, MILLER S BOOKS. 



SILENT TIMES. 

MAKING THE MOST OF LIFE. 

THE EVERY DAY OF LIFE. 

THE BUILDING OF CHARACTER. 

THINGS TO LIVE FOR. 

THE STORY OF A BUSY LIFE. 

PERSONAL FRIENDSHIPS OF JESUS. 

THE JOY OF SERVICE. 

STRENGTH AND BEAUTY. 

DR. MILLER'S YEAR BOOK. 

GLIMPSES THROUGH LIFE'S WINDOWS. 

THE GOLDEN GATE OF PRAYER. 

THE HIDDEN LIFE. 

YOUNG PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS. 

THE MINISTRY OF COMFORT. 



BOOKLETS. 



GIRLS; FAULTS AND IDEALS. 

YOUNG MEN; FAULTS AND IDEALS. 

SECRETS OF HAPPY HOME LIFE. 

THE BLESSING OF CHEERFULNESS. 

A GENTLE HEART. 

BY THE STILL WATERS. 

THE MARRIAGE ALTAR. 

THE SECRET OF GLADNESS 

UNTO THE HILLS. 

LOVING MY NEIGHBOUR. 

HOW? WHEN? WHERE? 

SUMMER GATHERING. 

THE TRANSFIGURED LIFE. 



THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY, 

NEW YORK. 



CJje iWttttstr? of 
Comiort 



J. R. MILLER 



AUTHOR OP *' SILENT TIMES," " MAKING THE MOST 
OP LIPE," "THINGS TO LIVE POR," ETC., ETC. 



There was never a night so dreary and dark 
That the' .-iiars mere not^ sornt^f^ece' sMrArtfj*:'' 



THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
PUBLISHERS 



^^^'; 

r^^^ 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two CoHita Received 

OCT. 1 1901 

Copyright entry 

CLASS a. KXc. N^. 

■COPT ■^. 



Copyright, 1901, by T. Y. Crowell <^ Co. 



PREFACE 



A THEOLOGICAL professor used to say to 
his students^ " Never fail in any service to have 
at least a word of comfort. No congregation^ 
however small, ever assembles but there is in it 
one person in sorrow, who will go away unhelped, 
if in Scripture lesson, hymn or prayer there is 
nothing to lift up a heavy heart,'''' 
No book for devotional reading would be com- 
plete, however full of other lessons, if it contained 
nothing for those who are in sorrow. In this lit- 
tie volume special prominence is given to the 
ministry of comfort, in the hope that the book 
may make some hearts braver and stronger in 
the hard and painful ways of life. It is affec- 
tionately dedicated to those who are called to 
pass through trial, 

J. R. M. 



Philadelphia y U. S. A. 



^# f- 



^|WIIP» '"^1^ 



TITLES OF CHAPTEKS 



I. Glimpses of Immortality Page 3 

_^ II. Why Trouble Comes 17 

III. *' But He for Our Profit" 27 

-^ IV. Love in Taking Away 43 

V. Trouble as a Trust 55 

•T' VI. Some Blessings of Sorrow 73 

'^VII Comfort in God's Will 85 

'^III. Jesus as a Comforter 99 

/IX. God Himself the best Comfort 113 

- — X. The Duty of Forgetting Sorrow 125 

XI. Effectual Prayer 143 

XII. The Effacement of Self 159 

XIII. One Day 171 

XIV. The Culture of the Spirit 185 
XV. The Secret of Serving 197 

XVI. The Habit of Happiness 211 

XVII. Thinking Soberly 225 

XVIII. Stumbling at the Disagreeable 237 

— XIX. The Duty of Thanksgiving 249 

XX. Manners 261 

XXI. Things Which Discourage Kindness 275 

XXII. Putting away Childish Things 287 



(0lfmpi5e$ of 3ltttwottal(tt 



[1 ] 



^' E'en for the dead I will not hind my soul to grief ; 

Death cannot long divide. 
For is it not as though the rose that climbed my garden 

wall 
Has blossomed on the other side f 

Death doth hide^ 

But not divide ; 
Thou art but on Christ's other side ! 
Thou art with Christy and Christ with me ; 
In Christ united ^ill are we" 



[3] 



CHAPTER FIRST 

dPUmpjsejs of 91ttimortaUtt 




ONSCIOUSNESS of im- 
mortality is a migthy mo- 
tive in life. If we think 
only of what lies in the 
little dusty circle about 
our feet we miss the glory 
for which we were made. But if we realize 
even dimly the fact that we are immortal, a 
new meaning is given to every joy of our 
life, to every hope of our heart, to every 
work of our hands. 

The realization of this truth of immortality 
in our personal consciousness is partly at 
least a matter of education. We may train 
ourself to think of our life in its larger as- 
pect. We may allow our mind to dwell only 
on material things, and keep our eyes on 
the narrow patch of earth on which we walk 
in our daily rounds. Or we may persist in 
lifting our thoughts to things that are un- 
[3] 



Ci^e ^ini^tvv of Comfott 

seen and eternal. This really is most impor- 
tant in the truest religious training* and dis- 
cipline, and we should lose no opportunity 
to get glimpses of things that are imperish- 
able. 

A literary friend tells of an experience 
with an oculist. Her eyes were troubling 
her, and she asked him if she did not need 
a pair of new glasses. He replied, after 
making an examination, that it was rest hei 
eyes needed, not different lenses. She as- 
sured him that this was an impossible pre- 
scription, telling him a little of what she 
must do day by day. After a moment's 
thought, he asked her if she had not some 
wide views from her windows. She replied 
enthusiastically that she had— that from her 
front porch she could see the noble peaks 
of the Blue Kidge, and from her back win- 
dow the glories of the Alleghany foothills. 
'' That is just what you want," said the ocu- 
list. " When your eyes get tired with your 
reading or writing, go and stand at your 
back window or on your front porch, and look 

[4] 



dDJltmpiSeiEi of 9Immortal(ti? 

steadily at your mountains for five minutes 
— ten will be better. This far look will rest 
your eyes." 

The friend finds in her oculist's direction a 
parable for her own daily life. '' Soul of 
mine," she says to herself, " are you tired of 
the little treadmill round of care and worry, 
of the conflicts with evil, of the struggles 
after holiness, of the harrowing grief of this 
world, — tired of to-day's dreary common- 
places? Then rest your spiritual eyes by 
getting a far vision. Look up to the beau- 
ty of God's holiness. Look in upon the 
throngs of the redeemed, waiting inside 
the gates. Look out upon the wider life that 
stretches away inimitably." 
It is such an outlook that the thought of 
immortality gives to us. We live in our nar- 
row sphere in this world, treading round 
and round in the same little circle. Life's 
toils and tasks so fill our hands, that we 
scarcely have time for a thought of any- 
thing else. Its secularities and its struggles 
for bread keep us ever bent down to the 
[5] 



Cl^e jEtnijstr^ of Comfort 

earth. The tears of sorrow dim our vision of 
God and of heaven. The dust and smoke of 
earth's battles hide the blue of heaven. We 
need continually to get far looks to rest us, 
and to keep us in mind of the great world 
that stretches away beyond our close hori- 
zons. The glimpses of eternity which flash 
upon us as we read our Bible or look into 
Christ's face, tell us anew what we so easily 
forget, that we are immortal, that our life 
really has no horizon. 

It is very inspiring to think of human life 
in this way, as reaching out beyond what 
we call death and into eternity. Dying is 
not the end — it is but an incident, a phase 
or process of living. It is not a wall, cutting 
off our path — it is a gate, through which we 
pass into larger, fuller life. We say we have 
only three-score and ten years to live, and 
must plan only for hopes or efforts which 
we can bring within this limit. But, really, 
we may make plans which will require 10,000 
years, for we shall never die. 
Life here is short, even at the longest. It 
[6] 



(5limp0t0 of 3Immortaltt^ 

is but a little we can do in our brief, 
broken years. We begin things and we are 
interrupted in the midst of them, before 
they are half finished. A thousand breaks 
occur in our plans. We purpose to build 
something very beautiful, and scarcely have 
we laid the foundation when we are called 
to something else, or laid aside by illness, 
or our life ends and the work remains unfin- 
ished. It is pathetic, when a busy man has 
been called away suddenly, to go into his 
office or place of business or work, and see 
the unfinished things he has left — a letter 
half written, a book half read, a picture be- 
gun but not completed. Life is full of mere 
fragments, mere beginnings of things. 
If there is nothing beyond death, but little 
can come of all this poor fragmentary liv- 
ing and doing. The assurance, however, 
that life will go on without serious break, 
through endless years, puts a new meaning 
into every noble and worthy beginning. The 
smallest things that we start in this world 
will go on forever. 

[7] 



Ci^e ^ini^v of Comfott 

St. Paul tells us at the close of his wonder- 
ful chapter on the resurrection, that our la- 
bor is not in vain in the Lord. Beyond our 
narrow horizon a world of infinite largeness 
awaits us. Nothing done for Christ shall fail 
or be in vain. All good things shall live for- 
ever. The seeds we sow here which cannot 
come to harvest in earth's little years, will 
have abundant time for ripening in the 
measureless after years. The slowest ripen- 
ing fruit will some day become mellow and 
luscious. 

There is comfort in this for those whose life 
seems a failure here, — crushed like a tram- 
pled flower under the heel of wrong or sin, 
broken, torn. There will be time enough in 
the immortal days for such broken lives to 
grow into strength and loveliness. Think 
of living a thousand years, a million years, 
in a world where there shall be no sin, no 
struggle, no injustice, no failure, but where 
every influence shall be inspiring and enrich- 
ing, for in the immortal life all growth is to- 
ward youth, not toward the decrepitude of 

[8 ] 



(15l(mpjcjej8 of Slttimortalitt 

age. The truth of immortality gives us a 
vision also of continued existence in love and 
blessedness for those who have passed from 
us and beyond our sight. We miss them 
and we ask a thousand questions about 
them, yet get no answer from this world's 
.wisdom. But looking through the broken 
grave of Christ, as through a window, we 
see green fields on the other side, and amid 
the gladness and the joy we catch glimpses 
of the dear faces we miss from the earthly 
circle. 

What a countless multitude of mothers 
there are, for example, whose little children 
have been lifted out of their arms and 
borne away ! The bud did not have time to 
open in the short summer of earth. It is car- 
ried from us, still folding in its closed-up 
calyxes all its possibilities of loveliness, 
power and life. Sorrow weeps bitterly, al- 
most inconsolably, over the hopes which 
seem blighted, and cuts on the marble shaft 
an unopened bud, a torn branch, or some 
other symbol of incompleteness. Yet when 
[9] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

we believe in immortality, what matters it 
that the bud did not open. here and unfold 
its beauty this side the grave ? There will 
be time enough in heaven's long summer 
for every life to put forth all its loveliness. 
Faith in immortality lifts the veil and eyes 
of love find these sweet infant faces again 
in the beautiful land. 



'' I wonder, 1 wonder, where the little faces go, 
That come and smile and stay awhile^ and pass 

like flakes of snow — 
The dear, wee hahy faces that the world has 

never known. 
But mothers hide, so tender-eyed, deep in their 

hearts alone. 



**/ love to think that somewhere, in the country 

we call heaven, 
The land most fair of everywhere will unto 

them he given. 
A land of little faces — very little, very fair — 
And everyone shall know her own and cleave 

unto it there, 

[ 10 ] 



dBJUmpjsejS of ^Immortality 

*' O grant it, loving Father, to the broken heai^ts 
that plead ! 

Thy way is best — yet 0, to rest in perfect faith 
indeed I 

To know that we shall find them, even them, the 
wee white dead, 

At thy right hand, in thy hright land, by liv- 
ing waters led I ' ' 

Only yesterday an anxious friend was speak- 
ing about the dear ones gone. Are they 
sleeping in unconsciousness ? Do they love 
and remember in that other land ? Are they 
greatly changed? Shall we find them again, 
and when we do will they be so much the 
same that we shall know them, and that 
we can go on with the old story of love 
begun here ? The New Testament teaching 
about death and immortality would seem 
to answer these questions. It shows us Je- 
sus himself beyond death, and he was not 
changed. He had the same gentle heart. He 
had not forgotten his friends. Surely it is 
the same with our dear ones who have 
passed from our sight. Death did not take 

[11] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

from them one line of beauty. It ended noth- 
ing in them that was worth while. The 
things in them which we loved here are 
lovable qualities in them still. We shall find 
them again and shall get them back un- 
changed, and then we shall go on once more 
with the sweet life of love that began so 
happily here. George Klingle puts it beau- 
tifully thus : 

We are quite sure 

That God will give them hack— bright, 2^ure and 

beautiful. 
We know he loill but keep 
Our oion and his until we fall asleep. 
We know he does not mean 
To break the strands reaehing between 

The Here and There, 
He does not mean — though heaven be fair — 
To change the spirits entering there, that they 

forget 
Tlie eyes upraised and wet, 

The lips too still for prayer. 

The mute despair. 
He will not take 

The spirits which he gave, and make 
[12 ] 



(0l(mpjsej2J of Slmmottalttt 

The glorified so new 

That they are lost to me and you. 

God never made 
Spirit for spirit, answering shade for shade, 
And placed them side by side- 
So wrought in one, though separate, mystified — 

And meant to break 
The quivering threads between. 

Thus it is that looking* through the window 
of Christ's rent tomb we have a vision of 
life as immortal and in the truth of immor- 
tality we find boundless inspiration, comfort 
for every sorrow and gain for every loss. 



C 13] 



a^l^l? ^xonhlt Corner 



[15] 



'' There was never a day so misty and gray 
That the blue was not somewhere above it ; 
There is never a mountain-top ever so bleak^ 
That some little flower does not love it, 

" There was never a night so dreary and dark 
That the stars were not somewhere shining ; 
There is never a cloud so heavy and black 
That it has not a silver lining. " 



[ 16] 



CHAPTER SECOND 

W})^ Crouble Comej5 




HERE is always a mystery 
in sorrow. We never can 
understand certainly why 
it comes to us. We cannot 
but ask questions when 
we find ourself in the 
midst of trouble. But many of our questions 
must remain unanswered until earth's dim 
lig-ht becomes full and clear in heaven's 
glory. " What I do thou knowest not now," 
said the Master ; " but thou shalt under- 
stand hereafter." 

Some good people make the mistake of sup- 
posing, when any trouble comes upon them, 
that they have displeased God in some way 
and that he is punishing them for it. This 
was the thought in the minds of the disci- 
ples, when they asked the Master for whose 
sin, his own or his parents', a certain man 
had been born blind. Jesus answered that 
[17] 



Ci^e ^inimv of Comfort 

the blindness had been sent for no one's sin, 
but for an occasion of good and blessing, 
for an opportunity of revealing the mercy 
and gentleness of God. ¥/hen we have sor- 
row or suffering, our question should not 
be, " What have I done that God is punish- 
ing me for?" but, ^*What is the mission 
of this messenger of God to me ? " 
If we would always greet pain or trouble 
in this way, with welcome, reverently, in 
Christ's name, we should be in an attitude 
for receiving whatever blessing or good 
God has sent to us in it. There is no doubt 
that whatever trouble comes to us, comes 
from God on an errand of love. It is not 
some chance thing breaking into our life, 
without purpose, without intention. It is a 
messenger from God, and brings blessings 
to us. Our trouble is God's gift to us. No 
matter what it may be — duty, responsibility, 
struggle, pain, unrequited service, unjust 
treatment, hard conditions — it is that which 
God has given to us. No matter through 
whose fault or sin it may have come to us, 
[ 18] 



Wi^V trouble Cornet 

when the trouble is ours, we may say it is a 
gift of God to us. Then being- a gift from 
God, we may be sure that it has in it for us 
a divine blessing. As it comes to us it may 
have a stern aspect, may seem unkindly, 
even cruel, but, folded up in its forbidding 
form, it carries some treasure of mercy. 
It is easy to find illustrations of this truth. 
The world's greatest blessings have come 
out of its greatest sorrows. Said Goethe, " I 
never had an affliction which did not turn 
into a poem." No doubt the best music and 
poetry in all literature had a like origin, if 
we could know its whole story. It is univer- 
sally true that poets '* learn in suffering 
what they teach in song." Nothing really 
worth while in life's lessons comes easily 
without pain and cost. 

Readers who find in certain books of Chris- 
tian experience words which are bread to 
their spiritual hunger, v/hich cheer and 
strengthen them, which shine like lamps on 
their darkness, showing them the wiay, do 
not know what it cost the writer to prepare 
[19] 



Ci^e jwitniistr^ of Comfort 

these words, how he suffered, strug^^led and 
endured, in order that he might learn to 
write the sentences which are so full of 
helpfulness. This is one of the rewards of 
suffering — the power to light the way for 
other sufferers. 

Many of the beneficences which have brought 
greatest good to the world have been the fruit 
of a bitter sorrow or a loss which seemed 
overwhelming. When Dr. Moon of Brighton 
was at the very ripeness of his powers and 
the summit of his achievements, he became 
totally blind. It seemed a terrible calamity 
that a man so brilliant, fitted to be so help- 
ful to humanity, should have his career of 
usefulness thus ruthlessly ended. For a time 
his heart was full of rebellious thoughts ; he 
could not and would not submit. He could 
see no possible goodness, nothing but un- 
qualified misfortune, in the darkening of 
his eyes which had put an end to his career 
among men. But in his darkness, he began 
to think of others who were blind and to 
ponder the question whether there might not 
[20] 



bo some way fcy which they could be enabled 
to read. The outcome of his thought was 
the invention of the alphabet for the blind, 
which is now used in nearly every country 
and in every language, by means of which 
three or four millions of blind in all parts of 
the world can read the Bible and other books. 
Was it not worth while for one man's eyes to 
be darkened in order that such a boon might 
be given to the blind of all lands ? 
In personal experience, too, countless sweet- 
est blessings and joys are born of sorrows. 
For many a man the things of earth on 
which he has set his heart are blighted, that 
his affections may be lifted to things heav- 
enly and eternal. There are many who never 
saw Christ until the light of some tender 
human beauty faded before their eyes, when, 
looking up in the darkness, they beheld that 
blessed Face beaming its love upon them. 

** Through the clouded glass 
Of our own bitter tears we learn to look 
Undazzled on the kindness of God's face. 
Earth is too dark, and heaven alone shines 
through,""^ 

[31] 



m^t ^inimv of Comfort 

A writer tells of a little bird which would 
not learn to sing- the song its master would 
have it sing while its cage was full of light. 
It listened and learned a snatch of this, a 
trill of that, a polyglot of all the songs of 
the grove, but never a separate and entire 
melody of its own. Then the master covered 
its cage and made it dark; and now it lis- 
tened and listened to the one song it was to 
learn to sing, and tried and tried and tried 
again until at last its heart was full of it. 
Then, when it had caught the melody, the 
cage was uncovered and it sang the song 
sweetly ever after in the light. 
As it was with the bird, so it is with many 
of us, God's children. The Master has a song 
he wishes to teach us, but we will not learn 
it. All about us earth's music is thrilling 
and we get but a note here and there of the 
holy strain that is set for us. Then the Mas- 
ter makes it dark about us, calling us aside 
to suffer, and now we give heed to the sweet 
song he would teach us imtil we can sing it 
through to the end. Then when we have 
[ -^3 ] 



W})v €:rottl3le Comejs 

once learned it in darkness, we go out into 
the light and sing it wherever we move. 

* * The clouds which rise with thunder slake 

Our thirsty souls with rain ; 
The blow most dreaded falls to break 

From off our limbs a chain ; 
And wrongs of man to man but make 

The love of God more plain, 
As through the shadowy lens of even 
The eye looks farthest into heaven 
On gleams of star and depths of blue 
The glaring sunshine never knew,'' 

When we think thus of troubles, as bearers 
of God's best blessings to us, they begin 
to wear a benigner aspect to our thought. 
They come not to us lawlessly, breaking 
into our life with their loss, anguish, and 
terror, without God's permission. They do 
not come laden with hurt and marring for 
us. They come as God's servants, and they 
bear in their hands divine blessings. They 
come not as avenging messengers to inflict 
punishment, but as angels of love to chasten 
us, mayhap to cure us of follies and sins, 
[23] 



%\)t piinimv of Comfort 

to lead us nearer to God, to bring out in us 
more of the beauty of Christ. No trouble of 
any kind ever comes to us but it brings 
us something that will be a blessing to us 
if only we will accept it. 
But we must receive these divine messengers 
reverently, with hospitable welcome, as of 
old men received and entertained angels who 
came to their doors. Too often sorrow's gifts 
are not accepted, the messengers are not wel- 
comed, and they can only turn and bear away 
again the blessings which they had brought 
in love, but which we would not take. 
It is a serious thing to have troubles come 
to us and not be graciously welcomed by 
us. We turn Christ himself from our doors 
when we refuse to admit what he sends to 
us, though it be a sorrow or a loss. We 
thrust away heavenly treasures, shutting 
our heart against them. The only true 
way to deal with trouble is to open our 
door to it as coming from God on an errand 
of love, its hands filled with priceless gifts 
for our true enriching. 

[ 24] 



f« 



05ut te fot flDut i^roW 



[25] 



'' I have no answer for myself or ihee^ 
Save that I learned beside ray mother* s knee : 

* All is of God that is^ and is to he ; 
And God is good. Let this suffice us still,, 
Resting in childlike trust upon his will 
Who moves to his great ends unthwarted by the ill,' 



[26] 



CHAPTEE THIED 

'' OBttt f e for €)ut i^rofit " 




ROUBLE is not accidental. 
It does not break wildly 
and lawlessly into our life. 
No matter what its immedi- 
ate cause or source, it is 
under direction. There is 
nothing" lawless in the universe. This is our 
Father's world and all things and all events 
are under his control. "We need not fret our- 
selves over scientific laws or the inferences 
from them, for God is greater than his own 
creation and is never hindered in his pur- 
poses of love by the outworking- of the laws 
he has established, which in any case are 
but his ways of working. Jesus spoke of 
the terrible cruelty and wrong- which cul- 
minated in his death on a cross as " the cup 
which my Father hath given me." 

*' Iknoio that never blooms in vain 
A flower in any woodland lair^ 

[ 27] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

That not a single drop of rain 
Is lost upon the desert air. 

" I know that never is there whirled 
Against the shore a grain of sand 
But, in the building of the world, 
/Serves to complete the perfect plan,'' 

It is comforting- to think of trouble, in what- 
ever form it may come to us, as a heavenly 
messenger, bringing us something from God. 
In its earthly aspect it may seem hurtful, 
even destructive ; but in its spiritual out- 
working it yields blessing. 
Take the matter of chastening. It is always 
painful, but we know that the object of 
our Father is our good, the correction in us 
of things that are wrong, and the bringing 
out in us of qualities of divine beauty which 
otherwise would not be developed. The 
writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews puts 
it very plainly in a remarkable jiassage. 
He reminds us that we are God's sons, 
and exhorts us not to regard lightly the 
chastening of the Lord, nor to faint when 
[28 ] 



'' But ipe for flDur l^rofit " 

we are reproved of him : *' For whom the 
Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth 
every son whom he receiveth. . . . God 
dealeth with you as with sons." 
Referring to our acceptance of the chas- 
tening of earthly parents, he says: "We 
had the fathers of our flesh to chasten us, 
and we gave them reverence ; shall we not 
much rather be in subjection to the Father 
of spirits and live? For they verily for a 
few days chastened us as seemed good to 
them; but he for our profit, that we may 
be partakers of his holiness." The wisest 
and most loving earthly father may not 
always chasten either wisely or lovingly, 
but whatever chastening our heavenly Fa- 
ther may minister to us, we know that he 
has in mind only our good, our profit. Then 
follow these words which interpret for us 
the purpose of all the trials that God 
sends into our life : " All chastening seem- 
eth for the present to be not joyous, but 
grievous: yet afterward it yieldeth peace- 
able fruit unto them that have been exer- 
[29] 



Cl^e piini^ttv of Comfort 

cised thereby, even the fruit of righteous- 
ness." 

The teaching is clear and positive. . Painful 
in the human experience, as it must always 
be, we know that in its outcome chasten- 
ing always works good. We do not know 
how much we owe to suffering. Many of 
the richest blessings which have come down 
to us from the past are the fruit of sorrow 
or pain. Others sowed in tears and we gath- 
er the harvest in joy. We should never for- 
get that redemption, the world's greatest 
blessing, is the fruit of the world's greatest 
sorrow. In our own personal life it is true 
that in all chastening our Father's design 
is our profit, and that suffering rightly en- 
dured yields the fruit of righteousness. 
Take the process of pruning — the figure 
which our Lord himself uses. The husband- 
man prunes the branches, but not with- 
out wise purpose. The Master's words, 
referring to this process in si^iritual hus- 
bandry, are rich in their comfort for those 
on whom the knife is doing its painful work. 
[ 30 ] 



'' -But i^e for flDur profit " 

For one tiling-, we are told that the Father 
is the husbandman. We know that our Fa- 
ther loves us and would never do anything" 
unloving" or hurtful. We know that he is 
infinitely wise, that he looks far on in our 
life, planning the largest and the best good 
for us, not for to-day only, but for all the 
future, and that what he does is certainly 
the best that could be devised. In every 
time of sharp pruning, when the knife cuts 
deep and the pain is sore, it is an unspeak- 
able comfort to read, '' My Father is the hus- 
bandman." 

Another inspiring thought in all such ex- 
perience is, that it is the fruitful branch 
which the Father prunes. Sometimes good 
people say when they are led through 
great trials, " Surely God does not love 
me, or he would not so sorely afflict me." 
But it takes away all this distressing 
thought about our trouble to read the 
Master's words, ''Every branch that bear- 
eth fruit he cleanseth it." It is not pun- 
ishment to which we are subjected, but 
[31 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfott 

pruning-, and it is because we are fruitful 
that we are pruned. 

Still another comfort here is revealed in 
the object of the pruning — '' That it may 
bear more fruit." The one object of all 
God's culture is fruitfulness. The figure of 
pruning helps us to understand this. When 
one who knows nothing of such processes 
sees a man cutting away branch after branch 
of a tree or vine, it would seem to him 
that the work is destructive. But those who 
understand the object of the pruning know 
that what the gardener is doing will add to 
the vine's value and to its ultimate fruit- 
fulness. 

Dr. Marvin R. Vincent tells of being in a 
great hothouse where luscious clusters of 
grapes were hanging on every side. The 
owner said, ''When my new gardener came 
he said he would have nothing to do with 
these vines unless he could cut them clean 
down to the stalk ; and he did, and we 
had no grapes for two years, but this is the 
result." There is rich suggestiveness in this 
[32] 



'' OBut !^e for ^m l^rofit " 

interpretation of the pruning process as we 
apply it to Christian life. Pruning seems to 
be destroying the vine. The gardener ap- 
pears to be cutting it all away. But he looks 
on into the future and knows that the final 
outcome will be the enrichment of its life 
and greater abundance of fruit. 
There is another Scripture teaching which 
many Christians seem to forget in time of 
trial. It is this, that every trouble which 
comes into the life of a believer enfolds in 
its dark form some gift from God. There are 
blessings which it would seem can be given 
only in pain and earthly loss, and lessons 
which can be learned only in suffering. There 
are heavenly songs we can never learn to 
sing while we are enjoying earth's ease. We 
can be trained for gentle ministry only in 
the school of loss and trial. In our short- 
sightedness we dread the hard things of life 
and would thrust away the bitter cups. If 
only we knew it, these unwelcome experi- 
ences bring to us rich gifts and benefits. 
There are blessings we never can have 
[33] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

unless we are ready to pay the price of 
pain. There is no other way to reach them 
save through suffering*. 

** God draws a cloud over each gleaming morn; 
Would we ask why f 
It is because all noblest things are born 
In agony. 

*' Only upon some cross of pain or woe 
God's son may lie ; 
Bach soul redeemed from self and sin must 
know 
Its Calvary. 

'* Yet we must crave neither for joy nor grief, 
God chooses best : 
He only knows our sick souVs best relief 
And gives us rest. " 

There is a quite common misconception re- 
garding- answers to prayer, a misconception 
which would be corrected if we understood 
better the meaning* of trouble as it comes 
into our life. In our time of suffering or 
sorrow we cry to God for relief, asking him 
[34] 



'' OBut l^e for ^m i^rofit " 

to take away that which is so hard for us to 
endure. We do not remember that this very 
trial is a messenger of good from God to us. 
When we ask our Father to free us from the 
painful experience, we do not realize that we 
are really asking- him to recall an angel of 
mercy who has come with rich gifts in his 
hands for us. 

What should our prayer be in such a case ? 
There is no harm in our asking even ear- 
nestly and importunately that the suffering 
may pass, but we should always ask rever- 
ently, leaving it to God to decide what is 
best. Then the prayer should be that if 
the trouble is not taken away we may be 
strengthened to endure it and may not fail 
to receive its blessing. This is the promise, 
indeed, that is made. We are not told that 
God will either remove our burden or carry 
it for us. If there is a benediction in it for 
us, it would not be a kindness to lift it off. 
The assurance is, however, that he will sus- 
tain us as we bear our load. This may dis- 
appoint some who turn to God with their 
[ 35 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

trouble, thinking only of relief from it. But 
when we remember that God has a design 
in the trouble, a loving purpose, we know we 
cannot afford to lose it. To be freed from it 
would be to miss the good that is in it for 
us. We grow best under weights. So in love 
and wisdom God leaves the load on our 
shoulder that we may still carry it and get 
through it the gift which he sends us in 
it. He then gives us strength to bear it — 
strengthens us under its weight. 
We have the same teaching in the word 
'^ comfort " itself, whose meaning is oft times 
greatly misunderstood. Many persons look- 
ing for comfort in sorrow, expect that the 
bitter cup will be taken away, or, at least 
that its bitterness will be alleviated. But 
the word comfort is from a root which 
means to strengthen. Hence it contains no 
promise that in any way the burden will be 
made lighter, or the grief less poignant. 
God comforts us by giving us strength to 
endure our trial. For example, when we turn 
to him in bereavement, he does not restore 
[36] 



our beloved, nor make the loss appear less 
— which could be done only by making* us 
love less, since love and grief grow on the 
same stalk — but gives us new revealings of 
his own love to fill the emptiness, and to put 
into our heart new visions of the life into 
which our friend has gone, to help us to 
rejoice in his exaltation to blessedness. 
We have an illustration of the divine com- 
forting in the way our Lord himself was 
helped in his great sorrow. As he entered 
the experience, he prayed that the cup 
might pass, yet praying submissively. The 
prayer was not answered in the form in 
which it was made. Instead of relieving him 
of his suffering, strength was ministered to 
him, and as we listen we find the intensity 
of his supplication subsiding into sweet 
acquiescence. Thus he was comforted, and 
passed through all the bitter trial of the 
cross without one other cry for relief, his 
heart filled with perfect peace. It is thus 
that usually God's comfort comes to his 
people — not in the lifting off of their weight 
[37] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

of sorrow or pain, but in strengthening 
them for victorious endurance. 
It is well that all who are called to suffer 
should get a clear and definite conception of 
the meaning of trouble, that they may know 
how to meet it. Since it comes always bear- 
ing some gift of love, some blessing from 
God, we should receive it as God's messen- 
ger, with reverence, with a welcome in our 
heart, though it bring pain or grief, and 
should be ready to take from it whatever 
benefit it brings. The reason many persons 
find so little comfort in their troubles is 
because they do not accept them as sent 
from God, nor expect to receive blessing 
from. They think only of getting through 
them in the best way they can, and then of 
getting over them at length, as nature's slow 
processes bring healing. 
But there is a better way. God's comfort 
can keep the heart sweet and unhurt in the 
midst of the sorest trials, and bring the 
life through the darkest hours, shining in 
transfigured beauty. A genial author writes : 
1.38] 



'' -But f e f ot £Dur profit " 

** Strangely do some people talk of getting 
over a great sorrow — overleaping it, passing 
it by, thrusting it into oblivion. Not so. No 
one ever does that, at least no nature which 
can be touched by the feeling of grief at all. 
The only way is to pass through the ocean 
of affliction solemnly, slowly, with humility 
and faith, as the Israelites passed through 
the sea. Then its very waves of misery will 
divide and become to us a wall on the right 
side and on the left, until the gulf narrows 
and narrows before our eyes, and we land 
safe on the opposite shore." 



[39] 



JLo^e in Cafetng atuat 



[41] 



" Be strong^ my soul ! 
Thy loved ones go 

Within the veil, God's ihine^ e'en so ; 
Be strong. 

'' Be strong^ my soul ! 
Death looms in view. 

Lo, here thy God ! He'll hear thee through; 
Be strong,'^ 



[42] 



CHAPTEK FOUETH 

lobe in Cafetng ^"mav 




NE of the finest examples 
of comfort in sorrow giv- 
en in the Scriptures is in 
Job's case. In quick suc- 
cession had come the mes- 
sengers of misfortune and 
disaster, telling him of troubles and losses, 
last of all reporting the death of all his 
children. When this climax of sad tidings 
was reached, Job rent his garments, fell 
down upon the ground and worshipped. 
Instead of losing sight of God under the 
crushing blows which had fallen upon him, 
as so many good people do at first, in 
time of great sorrow, he turned at once to 
God, falling at his feet in reverence and 
homage. His faith failed not. Everything 
had been taken — all his earthly blessings 
had been stripped off. Yet in his grief and 
bereavement he said, '* The Lord gave, and 
[ 43 ] 



m)t ^inimv of Comfott 

the Lord hath taken aAvay : blessed be the 
name of the Lord." 

It is easy enough to say that God gave, and 
then to bless his name. God is always giv- 
ing, and we readily see goodness and love 
in his gifts. It would have been easy for 
Job, as his prosperity increased, adding to 
his possessions, covering his fields with 
flocks, to say, " It is God who gives all this," 
and then to add, '' Blessed be his holy 
name." It w^ould have been easy as, one by 
one, his children came, bringing gladness 
and brightness into his home, to praise 
God for them, and to say, '^ The Lord gave 
— blessed be the name of the Lord." 
But it was not so easy now, when all this 
prosperity had vanished, and when his chil- 
dren lay dead, to put the new chord into the 
song and say, ''The Lord gave, and the 
Lord hath taken away : blessed be the name 
of the Lord." Yet that is just what Job did. 
It was the Lord who had given him all 
that had made his life happy, and it was 
the same Lord who now had taken every- 
[44] 



lobe in Cafiing atoa^ 

thing- away — the same Lord and the same 
love. 

There seems to have been in the stricken 
father a trust which was not shaken by all 
the calamities which had fallen upon him 
in such swift succession. He was kept in 
perfect peace. He had received good at 
God's hands in countless ways, and when 
trouble and disaster came he saw no reason 
to change his thought of God as his friend. 
He did not complain, nor blame God, but 
accepted the losses of property and now the 
sudden smiting dovrn of his children, with 
unquestioning confidence. It was the same 
Lord and the same love that had first given 
and now had taken away. 
There is immeasurable comfort in this truth 
for all who are called to give back again 
the gifts which God has bestowed upon 
them. God is a giving God, but he is also a 
God who sometimes takes away, and; in 
taking away, he is not changed in his char- 
acter nor in his feeling toward us, his 
children. He loves us just as truly and as 
[45 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

tenderly when he takes away the things or 
the beings we love as he did when he gave 
them into our hands. They were sent to us 
in love, and for our good they came with 
their blessings for our life. Then the taking 
away is also in love, and has good and a 
blessing in it. 

This is true, for example, of the friends we 
have. We are sure of the goodness that 
gives them to us. They bring divine bless- 
ings from God. We say of them, " The 
Lord gave — blessed be the name of the 
Lord." We have no doubt whatever con- 
cerning the goodness of God in giving our 
friends to us. But, by and by, they are taken 
from us. One of every two friends must some 
day see the other called away and must 
stand, bearing an unshared grief, by the 
other's grave. Can we finish Job's song of 
faith then, and say, ^* The Lord hath taken 
away : blessed be the name of the Lord 1 " 
Can we believe that there is as true and 
holy love in the taking away as there was in 
the giving 1 

[46 ] 



lobe in Cafting atoa^ 

It is not necessary that we be able to dis- 
cover or to see clearly the goodness in the 
experience of loss or sorrow. It is here that 
faith comes in. We believe in God as our 
Father, and we may trust his goodness, even 
when it seems to be tearing down what 
awhile ago it built up, when it takes from 
us what on a day bright with love and bless- 
ing it gave. The simplest faith is that 
which asks no questions and does not care 
to know the reasons for God's ways. Oft- 
times we cannot find reasons — God does not 
show us why he does this or that. 
Yet while we may not be able fully to un- 
derstand, we may conceive of elements of 
goodness even in the taking away. For one 
thing, we know it is better for our friends 
in that home of love into which God calls 
them than it ever could have been here. 
The true thought of Christian dying is that 
it is a phase or process of life. The sorest 
misfortune that could come to anyone would 
be never to die. There are developments of 
life which can be reached only by passing 
[47] 



Cl^e pLitximv of Comfort 

throng'h the experience of dying. Happy as 
our friends may have been here, and rich 
and beautiful as was their life, we know that 
they have entered sweeter, deeper joy, and 
that their life is fuller and richer where 
they now are with Christ. True love in its 
very essence is unselfish, and it ought to 
mean much to us in reconciling us to our 
loss, to know that our friends have been 
taken into larger blessedness. We ought to 
rejoice in their new happiness and in the 
greater honor which is shown to them in 
their receiving into heaven. 
Then they are kept safe and secure for us. 
in the home of God. We really have not 
lost them, although they have been taken 
out of our sight. They lose nothing of their 
beauty or their excellence of character in 
passing through death. The things in them 
which made them dear to us in this world 
they will have when we shall see them 
again. Indeed, they will have grown into 
rarer beauty and into greater dearness when 
we find them again. 

[48] 



lofee in Cafting atuat 

* * Qod keeps a niche 
In heaven to hold our idols ; and albeit 
He brake thein to our faces and denied 
That our close kisses should impair their white, — 
Iknoio we shall behold them, raised, complete, 
The dust swept from their beauty, " 

We know, further, since God is love, that 
when he takes our friends into richer life, 
he will send compensation to us, too, in 
some way. Even the loss and the sorrow will 
yield their gain and their ministry of good, 
unless by our attitude of mind and heart we 
miss the blessing. It is possible for us to 
fail to get the good God sends, shutting our 
heart against it. But there is no doubt that 
in every loss a gain is offered to us. When 
God takes away one blessing he gives an- 
other. Perhaps the withdrawal of the hu- 
man object of love makes more room in the 
heart for God himself. Or the taking away 
of the strength which has meant so much to 
us, trains us to more self-dependence, thus 
bringing out in us qualities of which hither- 
to we had been unaware. Or the sorrow 
[49] 



Cl^c piini^ttv of Comfort 

itself deepens our spiritual life and en- 
riches our experience, giving us a new 
power of sympathy through which we may 
become better comforters and helpers of 
others. 

Then the taking of our earthly loved ones 
from our side through the gates of blessed- 
ness, makes heaven more real to us because 
they now walk there. A mother said it had 
been a great deal easier for her to pray, and 
easier to be a Christian and to think of 
Christ, the year since her baby died, because 
she knew it was with him. Thus, in many 
ways, does new blessing come in place of 
what has been taken away. 
Once more, we know, too, that God never 
really takes away from us, out of our life, 
any gift or blessing that he bestows. The 
flower we love may fade, but the flower is in 
our heart and is ours forever. A picture is 
lent to you for a little while and then is re- 
moved, but while it hung on your wall and 
you gazed at it, it found its way into your 
heart and now none can ever take it from 
[ 50 ] 



you. Your friend walked with you a few or 
many days, and then vanished as to his hu- 
man presence, but the threads of his life are 
so inextricably entangled with yours that 
he and you can never be really separated. 
What God takes away is but the form which 
our eyes can see. This he keeps for us for a 
time until it has grown into fuller beauty 
and until we have grown, too, into larger 
capacity for love and for appreciation, and 
then he will give it back to us. 

" To give a thing and take again 
Is counted meanness among men ; 
To take aicay what once is given 
Cannot then he the way of heaven ! 

** But human hearts are crumbly stuff. 
And never, never love enough. 
Therefore God takes and^ with a smile. 
Puts our best things away awhile, 

' * Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn^ 
Some wish they never had been born; 
Some humble grow at last and still. 
And then God gives them lohat they wilL " 
[ 51 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

So it is only for a little while that God 
takes from us our loved ones. We shall 
have them again, made into immortal beau- 
ty. The hopes we mourn as having per- 
ished are yet in Christ's hands. He will 
keep them safe for us and at length will 
give them back to us in radiant and im- 
13erishable loveliness. In this life we see 
only the beginnings of our good things 
— we see them but in bud and blossom ; the 
full fruit, the ripeness we shall not get till 
we enter the other and better life. One of 
the surprises of heaven will be our finding 
there the precious hopes, joys, and dreams 
which seemed to have perished on earth 
— not left behind, but all carried forward 
and ready to be given into our hands the 
moment we sfet home. 



to"- 



'* Let us hope on though the way he long 
And the darkness he gathering fast, 
For the turn in the road is a little way on 
Where the home lights loill greet us at last. ' ' 



'[52] 



CtoulJle ajs a Cmist 



[53] 



Applauding C7'owds thy words may greet, 

Or marvel at the gift 
That calls such music from the quivering strings ; 
But thou wilt never touch one heart 
Till thou hast felt its sufferings — or in part. 

Then teach us, Son of God, to bear 

As thou thyself hast horne^ 
That from our deepest 2^ ain the power may spring 
Thai makes our brother strong — the power — 
Of sympathy and love, heaven's richest dower. ^^ 



[54] 



OHAPTEE FIFTH 

trouble ajs a Cruist 




NE wrote to a friend who 
for some time had been 
a sufferer, "God must 
love you very dearly to 
trust ,so much pain and 
sorrow to your care." The 
thought of suffering as something entrust- 
ed to us by God is a very suggestive one. 
We may not be accustomed to think of it 
in this way. Yet there is no doubt that 
every trouble that comes to us is really a 
trust, something committed to us to be ac- 
cepted by us, used as a gift of God and then 
accounted for. 

It is thus, indeed, that all life comes to us. 
Nothing is our own to use for ourself only. 
We receive our talent or talents, not to be 
spent on ourself or as we please, but to be 
increased by proper use, held for the honor 
of the Master, employed for the benefit of 
[55] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

the world, and then returned to our Lord 
when he calls for the accounting. 
Money is to be regarded likewise as a trust 
— not our own, but our Master's, to be used 
for him in doing good to others. The same 
is true of all blessings that we receive. We 
dare not use any of them, even the smallest, 
for our own pleasure or comfort alone ; if we 
do, they cease to be blessings to us. Even 
the divine mercy, the greatest of all God's 
gifts, which is granted so freely to every 
penitent, can become ours only on condi- 
tion that we shall dispense it to others. 
When we ask to be forgiven we must pledge 
our Father that we will be forgiving. The 
forgiveness we receive is not for ourself 
only, but is a trust to be used, to be given 
out again to others. 

This is the law of all life. Everything that 
is put into our hands, from the tiniest flower 
that blooms in our window to the infinite 
gift of eternal life, is entrusted to us that 
we may share its beaut}^ or its benefit with 
those about us. It is bestowed upon us, not 
[ 56] 



trouble ajs a Crujst 



as a treasure to be appropriated, but as a 
blessing- to be dispensed. To try to keep it 
altogether for ourself is to lose it ; we can 
make its blessing really our own only by 
holding it and using it for the good of 
others. 

Suffering in every form comes under the 
same law. It is a trust from God. It may 
have, and doubtless has, its peculiar mean- 
ing for us. But we must listen for its mes- 
sage in order that we may speak it out 
again so that others may hear it. It brings 
in its dark folds some gift of God expressly 
for us, but not for us to hold selfishly or to 
absorb in our own life. Whatever is spoken 
to us in the darkness of sorrow, we are to 
speak out in the light. What we hear in the 
ear as we listen in the hour of grief or pain, 
we are to proclaim upon the house-tops. 
What is revealed to us in the darkened 
room, when the curtains are drawn, we must 
go and tell others in their hours of need and 
trial. In all trouble we are stewards of the 
mysteries of God. 

[57] 



Ci^e 0iinimv of Comfott 

Pain is a wonderful revealer. It teaches us 
many things we never could have known 
if we had not been called to endure it. It 
opens windows through which we see, as we 
never saw before, the beautiful things of 
God's love. But the revealings are not to 
be hidden in our own heart. If we try thus 
to keep them we shall miss their blessing ; 
only by declaring them to others can we 
make them truly our own and get their 
treasure for ourselves. Only what we give 
away can we really hold forever. 
No doubt God's children are ofttimes called 
to suffer in order that they may honor the 
divine name in some way. This is illustrated 
in the case of Job. Satan sneeringly asks, 
" Doth Job fear God for nought ? Hast 
not thou made an hedge about him, and 
about his house, and about all that he hath 
on every side ? Thou hast blessed the work of 
his hands, and his substance is increased 
in the land. But put forth thine hand now, 
and touch all that he hath, and he will re- 
nounce thee to thy face." 
[ 58 ] 



trouble ajs a Cnijst 



It was necessary that this challenge of Sa- 
tan's should be met and disproved, and 
hence the great trials through which Job 
was called to pass. His sufferings were not 
for the cleansing of his own nature, or the 
correction of faults in his character, but in 
order that he might show by his unshaken 
faith that his serving of God was not for 
earthly reward, but from true loyalty of 
soul. 

May we not believe that ofttimes the primary 
reason why good men are called to suffer is 
for the sake of the witness they may give to 
the sincerity of their love for Christ and 
the reality of divine grace in them? The 
world sneers at religious profession. It re- 
fuses to believe that it is genuine. It defi- 
antly asserts that what is called Christian 
principle is only interested selfishness, and 
that it would not stand severe testing. Then 
good men are called to endure loss, suffer- 
ing or sorrow, not because there is any par- 
ticular evil in themselves that needs to be 
eradicated, but because the Master needs 
[ 59] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

their witness to answer the sneers of the 
world. 

This suggests how important it is that all 
who claim to be Christ's followers shall 
guard most carefully the manner of their 
witnessing when they are passing through 
any trial. They do not know how much de- 
pends upon the victoriousness of their faith 
and joy in the hour of pain. Suppose that 
Job had failed, that he had not retained his 
integrity in the time of his sore trial ; how 
Satan would have triumphed! But may it 
not be that in some sickness or loss or 
sorrow of ours, a like importance attaches 
to our faithfulness and submission, to our 
victoriousness, and that our failure would 
bring grief to the heart of Christ and cause 
the adversary to reproach God^s name ? 
Then, whatever the unknown and inscrutable 
reason may be why we are called or per- 
mitted to suffer, there is always a duty of 
witnessing from which we cannot be ex- 
empted. Yet do many people think of this? 
We all understand that we are to confess 
[60] 



Crouble ajs a Crujst 



Christ in our life before men, in our con- 
duct, our words, our disposition, in our 
business, in our conflict with evil. But are 
we accustomed to think of a duty of con- 
fessing* Christ in time of sorrow or trial ? 
Too often those who in all other experiences 
are loyal to Christ seem to break down in 
trouble, their faith failing-. There is nothing* 
in the way they endure pain or loss to show 
that they have any support or help which 
those who are not Christians do not have. 
No light from heaven seems to break into 
their earthly darkness. No unseen hand ap- 
pears to come to them in their struggle to 
hold them up. The comforts of God do not 
have any meaning for them. The voices of 
hope have no cheer for them. 
But it is not thus that the friends of Christ 
should testify for their Master in their times 
of trial. The divine promises cover every 
experience. We are assured of the presence 
of Christ with us in every dark path, in 
every lonely way. We are clearly taught 
that the love of God never fails his chil- 
[61 ] 



Cl^e ^infjstr^ of Comfort 

dren, tliat it is as true and tender in times 
of affliction as it is in times of gladness, that 
it is the same when blessings are taken 
away as when they are given. We know that 
all things work together for good to them 
that love God. It is made plain in the 
Scriptures that no tribulation can harm us 
if we abide in Christ, that we shall be pre- 
served blameless through the most terrible 
trials, if our faith in Christ does not fail. 
Many of life's events are full of mystery — 
we cannot understand them, nor can we see 
how they are consistent with God's love and 
wisdom. But we have the most positive as- 
surance that some time we shall understand, 
and that in everything we shall see divine 
goodness. 

With such comforts for every experience we 
should never be cast down, however great 
are our trials. We should let the divine con- 
solations into our heart, and believe them 
implicitly. We cannot but feel the pangs of 
grief — God will never blame us for our 
tears, but in our deepest afflictions our 
[ 62 ] 



Crouble a^ a Crujst 



faitli should not fail, and the songs of joy 
should not be choked. Peojjle are looking 
upon us and, consciously or unconsciously, 
watching to see what Christ can do for us 
in our sore stress. To witness truly for him 
we must suffer victoriously, be more than 
conquerors through him that loved us. 
We say that we believe on Christ and in the 
immortal life ; what does our believing do 
for us ? Do we endure our trials in such a 
radiant way that those who see us are led to 
believe in Christ and to seek his love and 
help for themselves? If trouble is some- 
thing committed to us as a trust we must 
accept it reverently and submissively, we 
must endure it patiently and sweetly, we 
must take the divine comfort and let it sus- 
tain and strengthen us, and we must pass 
through it songfuUy, unhurt, with life en- 
riched. Thus shall our trouble honor Christ 
and be a blessing to others. 
There is a strange story of Abraham which 
illustrates one way in which trial must be 
endured if in it we would honor God. The 
[ 63 ] 



Ci^e Minimv of Comfort 

old patriarch was bidden to take his son, his 
only son, the son of his love and of prom- 
ise, and offer him on an altar as a burnt- 
offering*. The record says that God gave this 
command to Abraham to prove him, that is, 
to see if his faith would endure the test. 
And God was not disappointed in his 
friend. After it was all over, the angel of the 
Lord said to Abraham, " Because thou hast 
done this thing, and hast not withheld thy 
son, ... in blessing I will bless thee." 
Abraham accepted his trial as a trust from 
God and was faithful, did not fail God. 
Then who can tell what a blessing his faith- 
fulness has been to the world through the 
centuries? Other people have been taught 
by Abraham's example to give their chil- 
dren to God unquestioningly, willing that 
he should use them as he will, in whatever 
form of service will best honor him and most 
greatly bless the world. 
We are always in danger of selfishness in 
grief or sorrow. We are apt to forget our 
duty to those about us. Some good people 
[ 64 ] 



Crouble aja a Ctujst 



drop out of their hands the tasks of love 
which filled them in the days of joy, and 
feel that they cannot take them up again. 
Some allow their life to be hurt, losing- its 
sweetness, its joy, its zest. There are those 
who are never the same after a sore be- 
reavement or a keen disappointment. They 
never get back again their winningness of 
spirit, their interest in others, their enthusi- 
asm in duty. They come out of their trial 
self-centred, less joyous as Christians, less 
ready to do good. 

But not thus should trouble affect us if we 
accept it as a trust from God. Not only 
should we endure it victoriously, sustained 
by Christ, but we should emerge from it 
ready for better service and for greater use- 
fulness than ever before. We are told that 
Jesus was made perfect through suffering. 
He learned in his own experience of sorrow 
how to sympathize with his people in their 
sorrows and how to comfort them. One of 
the reasons for trouble is that in it we 
may be prepared for helping others in their 
[65] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

troubles. Sorrow is a school, and we meet it 
as we should only when we learn the lessons 
and go out fitted for being a richer blessing 
in the world. 

The problem of all true living is not to 
miss pain or trial, but in all experiences, 
however hard or bitter, to keep our heart 
ever sweet and our ministry of good and 
helpfulness ever uninterrupted. The keenest 
suffering should make us only the gentler 
in spirit and send us out to be yet more lov- 
ing and thoughtful — a benediction to every 
one we meet. 

** /Such a heart Fd hear in my bosom 

That^ threading the croicded streets. 
My face should shed joy unloosed for 

On every poor soul one meets ; 
And such wisdom should crown my forehead 

That, coming where counsels stand, 
I should carry the thoughts of justice 

And stablish the weal of tJie land. " 

In one of St. Paul's epistles we are taught 

that God's comfort also is given to us in 

[ 66] 



Crouble a0 a Crujst 



trust. We do not receive it for ourselves only, 
but tliat we may give it out again to others. 
To the Corinthians the apostle wrote in an 
outburst of joyous praise : ''Blessed be the 
God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
the Father of mercies, the God of all 
comfort ; who comforteth us in all our afflic- 
tion, that we may be able to comfort them 
that are in any affliction, through the com- 
fort w^herewith we ourselves are comforted 
of God." Thus the intention of our heavenly 
Father, when he finds us in sorrow and min- 
isters comfort to us, is not merely to get us 
through the trial, to strengthen us to en- 
dure for ourselves the pain or loss, but also to 
prepare us for being comforters of others. 
When we have been helped to say, ''Thy 
will be done," in some great trial, and have 
been enabled to go on rejoicing in tribula- 
tion, we have a secret which we must tell 
others. We must go to those whom we find 
in grief or trial, and sitting down beside 
them, let them know what God did for us 
when we were in like experience, giving 
[ 67] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

them the words of God which have helped 
us. 

When we pray for comfort in sorrow it 
should be with this motive, that we may g-et 
a new blessing to take to others. To ask to 
be comforted merely that we may be able to 
endure our own pain or grief is to pray self- 
ishly. But when we pray that God w^ould 
teach us the lessons of comfort that we may 
teach them again to others, that he would 
help us to overcome that we may help oth- 
ers to be victorious, our prayer pleases him 
and will be answered. 

Thus our lesson gathers itself all into this : 
We are *^ stewards of the m3^steries of God. 
. . . It is required in stewards, that a man 
be found faithful." When God sends us pain 
or sorrow we are to be faithful. We are to 
accept our trust with love and to think of it 
as something of God's committed to us. 
However heavy the burden, it is a gift from 
God and has a blessing in it for us. We 
must never forget that in our hardest trial 
we have something of God's in our hands 
[68] 



trouble ajs a Cmjst 



and must treat it reverently and get from 
it whatever good God has sent to us in it. 
Then we must think of it also as something 
which is not for ourself alone, but which we 
are to share with others. 
It is a law among physicians that whatever 
new discovery in medical science one makes 
he must communicate it to the whole pro- 
fession, that all may use the new knowledge 
for the alleviation of suffering or the saving 
of life. It should be a law of Christian life 
that every good or blessing one may receive 
from God, any new revealing of truth, any 
new lesson, should be used for the helping 
of others in the name of Christ. 

** Oh, strengthen me, that while I stand, 
Firm on the Rock and strong in thee, 
I may stretch out a loving hand 
To wrestlers with the troubled sea. 

** Oh, teach me, Lord, that I may teach 
The precious things thou dost impart ; 
And wing my loords, that they may reach 
The hidden depths of many a heart, 
[ C9 ] 



Ci^e piini^ttv of Comfort 

* ' Oh, give thine own sweet rest to me, 

TJiat I may speak with soothing power 
A word in season^ as from thee. 
To weary ones in needful hour,*'* 



[ 70] 



^ome Blejsi^ing^ of ^ottoto 



[71 ] 



' The clouds which rise with thunder slake 
Our thirsty souls with rain ; 
The blow most dreaded falls to break 

From off our limbs a chain. 
And wrongs of man to man but make 

The love of God more plain. 
As through the shadowy lens of even 
The eye looks farthest into heaven 
On gleams of star and depths of blue ^ 
The glaring sunshine never knew. " 



[72] 



CHAPTEE SIXTH 

^ome laiejSjsmQ^ of ^orrotu 




T may seem strange to 
some to speak of the 
blessings of sorrow. We 
would say at first thought, 
" Surely nothing good can 
come from anything so 
terrible." Yet the word of God assures us, 
and the experience of the ages confirms the 
assurance, that many of the richest and best 
blessings of life come out of affliction. 
One of the most striking visions of heaven 
granted to the revelator on Patmos was that 
of a glorified company who seemed to sur- 
pass all the other blessed ones in the splen- 
dor of their garments and the radiant honor 
of their state. They were arrayed in white 
robes, carried palms in their hands, and 
stood nearest the throne and the Lamb. We 
would have said that these were the chil- 
dren of joy, that they had come up from 
[73] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

earth's scenes of gladness, that their condi- 
tion in life had been one of exceptional ease 
and freedom from trouble, that they had 
never known a care or a grief. But when the 
question was asked, '^ These which are ar- 
rayed in the white robes, who are they, and 
whence came they ? " the answer was, '^ These 
are they which come out of the great tribu- 
lation." They were the children of earth's 
sorrow. They had been brought up in the 
school of triaL 

This vision would seem to teach us that 
those redeemed ones who on earth have had 
the most affliction, in heaven attain the 
highest honor. Their robes are whitest, in- 
dicating surpassing purity. They bear palm- 
branches, emblems of victory, showing that 
they have overcome in life's struggles. They 
are nearest Christ, too, among the glorified, 
verifying the promise that they who suffer 
with him shall also reign with him. 
The Scriptures contain many words which 
receive confirmation in this glimpse within 
the gates. We are told that we must through 
[74] 



^ome 'BlejSjsingjs of ^orrotu 

much tribulation enter into the kingdom of 
God. The way into a life of spiritual blessed- 
ness is through pain. In the messages to the 
seven churches we have glimpses of great 
privileges, blessings, and honors which are 
within the reach of the followers of Christ. 
One shows us the tree of life in the paradise 
of God. In another we see a crown of life 
waiting to be put upon the head of him who 
is faithful. In another the lifting of the veil 
reveals to us hidden manna, and a white 
stone, with a new name written on it. In 
another it is power that is promised, author- 
ity to rule. Other of these visions show us 
white garments and the name written in the 
book of life, an honored place in the temple 
of God, and, last of all, a seat beside Christ 
on his throne. But all of these heavenly 
prizes are shown to us beyond a field of 
struggle, and he who would win them must 
first fight the battle and be a victor. ''To 
him that overcometh," runs the promise in 
ever^^ case. Not to overcome would be to 
miss the prize. Not to have the trial and the 
[75] 



Clie piini^tti^ of Comfort 

struggle would be to stay in lower, lesser 
blessedness. 

We do not know what we owe to our sor- 
rows. Without them we should miss the 
sweetest joys, the divinest revealings, the 
deepest experiences of life. Afflictions are 
opportunities. They come to us bearing 
gifts. If we can accei)t them they leave in 
our hand heavenly treasures. Not to be able 
to receive the bearer of the blessings is to 
miss the blessings and to be poorer all the 
rest of our days. 

Many of the finest things in character are 
the fruits of pain. Many a Christian enters 
trial, cold, worldly, unspiritual, with the 
best possibilities of his nature still locked 
uj) in his life, and emerges from the experi- 
ence a little later, with spirit softened, mel- 
lowed, and enriched, the lovely things 
brought out. A photographer carries his 
picture into a darkened room, that he may 
bring out its features. He says the light of 
the sun would mar the impression on the 
sensitized plate. There are features of spir- 
[76] 



^ome I3le00tn90 of ^orroto 

itual beauty which cannot be produced in a 
life in the glare of human joy and prosper- 
ity. God brings out in many a soul its love- 
liest qualities when the curtain is drawn 
and the light of human joy is shut out. 
Afflictions sanctified soften the harshness 
and asperity of life. They tame the wild- 
ness of nature. They consume the dross of 
selfishness and worldliness. They humble 
pride. They temper human ambitions. They 
quell fierce passions. They show to us the 
evil of our own heart, revealing our weak- 
nesses, faults, and blemishes, and making us 
aware of our spiritual danger. They disci- 
pline the wayward spirit. Sorrow draws its 
sharp ploughshare through the heart, cutting 
deep and long furrows, and the heavenly 
Sower follows with the seeds of life. Then 
by and by fruits of righteousness spring 
up. Sorrow has a humanizing influence. It 
makes us gentle and kindly toward each 
other. It has been said that " The last, the 
best fruit which comes to late perfection, 
even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness 
[77] 



Cl^e piMmv of Comfort 

toward the hard, forbearance toward the 
unforbearing', warmth of heart toward the 
cold, and philanthropy toward the misan- 
thropic." In no other school do our hearts 
learn the lessons of patience, tolerance, and 
forbearance so quickly as in the school of 
suffering. Harsh feelings are softened, and 
kindly charity takes the place of resent- 
ment. Many a household is saved from dis- 
integration by a grief which bows all hearts 
before God and wakes up the slumbering 
affections. 

Offctimes, indeed, sorrow is one of the se- 
crets of happy home life. It is a new mar- 
riage when young parents stand, side by 
side, by the coffin o^' their first-born. Grief 
is like a sacrament to those who share it, 
with Christ beside them. Many homes have 
been cured of harshiiess of spirit and sharj)- 
ness of speech, and saved from pride, cold- 
ness, and heedlessness, bj" a sorrow which 
broke in upon the careless household life. 
Most of us need the chastening of pain to 
bring out the best of our love. 
[78] 



^ome laiejSisingjS of ^orrotD 

Another of the blessings which come from 
trial is the finding of one's soul. It was 
in his great distress that the prodigal 
^' came to himself." Many people walk in a 
dream, as it were, till in some trouble they 
are aroused to see the reality of things. 
They are happy in their earthly gladness, 
satisfied with their human ambitions, una- 
ware meanwhile of the flitting nature of this 
world and of the eternal stability of the 
spiritual world. They are living in a dream, 
as it were. Then sorrow breaks in upon 
them. One who is very dear is lifted out of 
the circle and glorified. At once revealing 
comes. They see how mistakenly they have 
been living, and how perilously. 
One tells of a company of tourists on the 
Alps who were overtaken by night, and 
after groping in the deep darkness for a 
time, were compelled to settle down and 
wait until morning. A thunderstorm arose 
during the darkness and a vivid lightning- 
flash showed them that they had stopped 
on the very edge of a precipice. Another 
[79] 



Cl^e piini^ttv of Comfort 

step forward and they would have fallen to 
their death. The lightning flashes of sorrow 
ofttimes reveal to Christian people the peril 
in which they are living, and lead them to 
turn to safer paths. Many a redeemed one 
in glory will look back to the time of a 
great grief as the time of seeing God which 
led to penitence and faith. 
Another result of sorrow, when it is accept- 
ed, is in preparing us to be better messen- 
gers of God to others. Jesus himself was 
made ready to be a sympathizing and help- 
ful Friend by his human sufferings. He un- 
derstands our grief because in his own life 
he was acquainted with grief. He is able to 
be a comforter to us because he himself 
was comforted. St. Paul tells us that the 
reason God comforts us in our trouble is 
that we may become comforters of others in 
their afflictions. We haV'O a new power with 
which to bless others trhen we have come 
from an experience of grief. An emptied 
heart is a wonderful interpreter of others' 
bereavements. The power to be a true help- 
[ 80] 



^ome 'Ble^^ingjs of ^ortoto 

er of those who are in trouble, a binder-up 
of broken hearts, is the most divine of all 
enduements. Surely, then, it is worth while 
to pay any price of pain or suffering, in or- 
der to receive the divine anointing* for such 
sacred ministry. 

True comfort has a strange power to heal, 
to bind up hearts' wounds, to turn sorrow 
into joy. The Christian home which has 
been broken by bereavement, under the 
wise tuition of Christ and the gentle influ- 
ences of the divine love, is made to have a 
deeper happiness than eVer it had before. 
The truth of immortality brings back the 
missing ones, as it were, and they sit again 
in their old places. The vacant chairs seem 
filled once more, and the love of the absent 
ones appears as real and as tender as it did 
when they were hare. Christian faith nulli- 
fies the sad work af deaih, and binds again 
the broken ties. 

" There is no vacant chair. The loving meet — 
A group unbroken—smitten, who knows how f 
[81 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

One sitteth silent only, in her usual seat ; 

We gave her once that freedom. Why not nowf 

** Perhaps she is too weary and needs rest ; 
Bhe needed it too often, nor could we 
Bestow. God gave U, knowing how to do so best. 
Which of us would disturb herf Let her be. 

** There is no vacant chair. If she will take 
The mood to listen mutely, be it done. 
By her least mood we crossed, for which the 

heart must ache, 
Plead not nor question I Let her have this one. 

'* Death is a mood of life. It is no whim 

By which lifers Giver mocks a broken heart, 
Beath is life's reticence, Still audible to him, 
The hushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart. 

** There is no vacant chair. To love is still 

To have. Nearer in memory than to the eye 
And dearer yet to anguish than to comfort, will 
We hold her by our love that shall not die, 

** For while it doth vM, thus she cannot. Try! 
Who can put out the motion or the smile f 
The old ways of being noble all with her laid 
byf 
Because we love, she is. Then trust awhile.'' 
[82] 



d 



Comfort in <0oti'0 Will 



[83] 



Almighty ! Listen ! I am dust. 
Yet spii'it am /, 50 / trust. 
Let come what may of life or deaths 
I trust thee with my sinking breath. 
I trust thee^ though I see thee not 
In heaven or earth or any spot. 
I trust thee till I shall know why 
There's one to live and one to die. 
I trust thee till thyself shall prove 
Thee Lord of life and death and love. 

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 



[84]- 



CHAPTEE SEVENTH 

Comfort til (0oD'jS Will 




GEEAT secret of comfort 
lies in '' Not my will, but 
thine." When we can say 
this and abandon ourself 
and all in our life that 
causes perplexity or care, 
into the hands of divine wisdom and love, 
the struggle is over and the peace of God is 
already keeping our heart in quietness and 
confidence. This was the secret of the com- 
fort which came to our Lord himself in 
Gethsemane. He was face to face with the 
most terrible experience any soul ever met 
in this world. The record says he was ex- 
ceeding sorrowful, even unto death. " Being 
in an agony he prayed." The holy Sufferer 
X)leaded that the cup of bitter anguish now 
being held to his lips might pass from him. 
Never was more intense prayer offered to 
the Father. But amid the anguished plead- 
[ 85 .] 



Cl^e ^inimv ot Comfort 

ing' was heard the self-restraining word of 
submission, ''Not my will, but thine, be 
done." There was something more important 
than the granting of the suppliant's request 
— it was that the purpose of God for him 
that hour should go on unhindered. 
It is interesting to trace the course of the 
Gethsemane prayer and to see how the note 
of submission gains the ascendanc}^ over the 
pleading for relief, until at length the 
struggle ends in acquiescence and perfect 
peace. The first supplication w^as, '' O my 
Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass 
away from me : nevertheless, not as I will, 
but as thou wilt." A little later Jesus re- 
turned again to his pleading and we hear 
this petition from his lii3S : *' O my Father, 
if this cannot pass away, except I drink it, 
thy will be done." The fierceness of the 
struggle in the Sufferer's soul was being 
mastered by the spirit of submission to the 
divine will. Soon the agony was over. The 
victory had been won. We have at least an 
echo of the comfort which filled the heart ol 
[86] 



Comfort in cBfoD'^ Will 

Jesus in his word to Peter, a little later, when 
that warm-hearted but rash disciple had 
drawn his sword to resist the betrayal and 
the arrest of his Master, " The cup which 
the Father hath given me, shall I not drink 
it ? " There was no word now of supplica- 
tion for the passing av/ay of the cup. Jesus 
had made way for his Father's will and was 
comforted. 

There is no other w^ay by which true com- 
fort can come to any heart in time of sorrow 
but by acquiescence. So long as we cannot 
say, " Not my will, but thine, be done," the 
struggle is still going on, and we are still 
uncomforted. Comfort is peace, and there is 
no peace until there is acquiescence in the 
will of God. Whatever the sorrow, there- 
fore, if we would find divine comfort we 
must seek to bring our will into complete 
harmony with our Father's will. 
There are reasons why we should do this in 
every grief or sorrow. One is, that God has 
a plan and a purpose for our life. There is 
something he would make of us, and some- 
[ 87] 



Ci^e jEintjstr^ of Comfort 

thing" he would have us do. What this di- 
vine thought for our particular life is, the 
divine will discloses. Every time we resist 
this will and refuse to accept it at any 
point, we mar the beauty and completeness 
of our own life. God's purpose for us runs 
through whatever sorrows or sufferings 
there may be in our lot ; in all our experi- 
ences God's will for us is the bringing out 
of his image in us. Only by acquiescence in 
the divine will can we have our life fash- 
ioned after this heavenly pattern. 
Another reason why we should let God's 
will work without resistance, without com- 
plaining, in our life, is that God is our 
King and has a sovereign right to reign 
over us. Insubmission is rebellion. Not only 
should our submission be complete, with- 
out condition and without reserve, in the 
smallest as well as in the greatest matters ; 
it should also be cheerful and songful. 
Chafing and murmuring grieve God. The 
moment we recognize the will of God in 
either a duty or a borrow we should accept 
[ 88 ] 



Comfort in (0oD'jS Will 

it with delight. In no other way can we 
please God and have his benediction of 
peace. 

Another reason for submitting- to the divine 
will in time of trouble is that God always 
seeks our good. He is our Father, and 
would never send into our life anything that 
would harm us, nor take from us anything 
that would leave us poorer or less blessed. 
We are sure, too, that his wisdom is perfect, 
and that he knows what really is good for 
us. We ourselves do not know. We cannot 
follow the influence of this or that in our 
life, nor know whither such and such a 
course would lead us. We have no wisdom 
to choose our own lot, and we would far 
better let God decide for us what is best. 

* * I would not dare, though it were offered me, 
To plan my lot for hut a single day, 
So sure am I that all my life would be 
Marked with a blot in token of my sivay.'*^ 

The thing we are so eager to get, it may be, 
would do irreparable hurt to our truest life. 

[ 89 ] 



k 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

Tlie joy we so desire to keep, and which we 
think indispensable to our happiness, per- 
haps has done its full work for us and in us, 
and would better now be taken away. God 
knows what is best for us, and his will is not 
only perfect Avisdom, but also perfect love. 
To resist it is to do harm to our own life ; to 
reject it and insist upon having* our own 
way would be to choose evil, not good, for 
ourself. 

It does not seem to us that sorrow can be 
the bearer of blessing to us. Yet there is no 
doubt that every grief or pain which comes 
brings a blessing wrapped in its dark folds. 
There is a marginal reading of a sentence of 
one of the psalms which tells us that our 
burden is a gift — God's gift to us. Every 
burden that is laid upon us, however it may 
have become ours, carries, folded up in it, 
a gift of God. God's gifts are always good. 
To refuse to accept the burden would be to 
reject a gift of love from our Father and to 
thrust away a blessing sent for the enrich- 
ment of our life. 

[90] 



Comfort in (5oh'^ Will 

Diamonds are sometimes found in the heart 
of rough stones. It is said that the first dis- 
covery of diamonds in South Africa was in 
some pebbles which were tossed about on 
the ground by passing feet. A scientific man 
came upon a group of boys using some of 
these stones for marbles and his keen eye 
detected the gem that was wrapped up in the 
rough encrusting. So it is that the stern and 
severe experiences which we call sorrows 
conceal within their forbidding exterior dia- 
monds of God's love and grace. We do not 
know how we are robbing ourselves when 
we refuse to accept the trials which come 
to us in God's providence. Acquiescence in 
the divine will is taking into our life the 
good which our Father is offering to us. 
There are those who are called to long 
years of suffering or of sorrow. It is a com- 
fort for such to think of their iDain or grief 
as a friend sent to accompany them on the 
way. Mrs. Gilchrist wrote of Mary Lamb, 
"She had a life-long sorrow and learned to 
find its companionship not bitter." When the 
[ 91 ] 



Ci^e ittini0tr^ of Comfort 

sufferer learns to think thus of the pain or 
the sorrow that stays and does not depart, 
the bitterness is turned to sweetness and the 
life finds blessing, inspiration, uplift, puri- 
fying in the sacred companionship. 

* * When first I looked upon the face of Pain 
I shrank repelled, as one shrinks from a foe 
Who stands with dagger poised, as for a blow. 
I was in search of Pleasure and of Gain : 
I turned aside to let him pass : in vain : 
He looked straight in my eyes and would not go. 
* Shake hands, ' he saidy * our paths are one^ 

and so — 
We must he comrades on the way, His plain, "* 

** I felt the firm clasp of his hand on mine : 
Through all my veins it sent a strengthening 

glow, 
I straightway linked my arm in his, and lo I 
He led me forth to Joys almost divine ; 
With God's great truths enriched me in the 

end: 
And now I hold him as my dearest friend.'^ 

Or it may be that the will of God would 

take from us something very dear which 

[92] 



Comfort in (!3oD'}8 Will 

wo would keep. We should always remem- 
ber that God's love is the same whether he 
is putting new gifts into our hands or tak- 
ing away those we have learned to cherish. 
The good things which mean so much to 
us are his, not ours. They have only been 
lent to us for a time, and for a specific pur- 
pose. When their mission is finished God 
recalls them, and we may be sure there is 
blessing in the recalling. 
A beautiful story is told of a devout Jewish 
home in which were twin boys who were 
greatly beloved. In the absence of the 
father both boj^s suddenly died. When the 
father returned, not knowing of the sorrow 
in his home, the mother met him at the 
door and said, *^ I have had a strange visitor 
since you went away." 

*' Who was it ? " asked the father, not sus- 
pecting her meaning. 

" Five years ago," his wife answered, " a 
friend lent me two precious jewels. Yester- 
day he came and asked me to return them to 
him. What shall I do?" 
[93] 



W^t piini^tvv of Comfort 

*' Are they his ? " asked the father, not 
dreammg of her meaning'. 
*' Yes, they belong to him and were only 
lent to me." 

*' If they are his, he must have them again, 
if he desires." 

Leading her husband to the boys* room, the 
wife drew down the sheet, uncovering the 
lovely forms, white as marble. '' These are 
my jewels," said the mother. **Five years 
ago God lent them to me and yesterday he 
came and asked them again. What shall 
we do ? " 

With a great sob, the father said, bowing 
his head, "The will of the Lord be done." 
That is the way to find God's comfort. He 
has a right to take from us what he will, for 
all our joys and t;easuros belong to him 
and are only lent to us for a time. It was in 
love that he gave them to us ; it is in love 
that he takes them away. When we cease 
our struggle, and in faith and confidence 
submit our will to his, peace flows into our 
heart and we are comforted. 

[94] 



Comfort in ctDioD'^ Will 

Thus it is that the secret of divine comfort 
is found in complete, quiet, and joyful 
yielding- to the will of God. It does not 
make the pain of the sorrow less ; it does 
not give back the loved one who has been 
called away, but it brings the heart into 
full accord with God, and thus gives sweet 
peace. '^ Not my will, but thine,'' ends all strife 
and struggle, and the soul rests in undis- 
turbed calm on the bosom of God. We do 
not try to understand, we ask no more ques- 
tions ; we simply trust and leave all in our 
Father's hands, and are strangely, sweetly 
comforted. 

**We see not, know not; all our way 
Is night ; with thee alone is day. 
From out the torrent's troubled drifts 
Above the storm our prayer zee lift^ 
Thy will be done ! 

•*We take with solemn thankfulness 
Our burden up, nor ask it less; 
And count it joy that even we 
May suffer, serve, or wait for thee. 
Thy will be done ! ' * 
[95] 



%tm^ aj3 a Comforter 



[97] 



And all through life I see a Cross^ 

Where sons of God yield up their breath; 

TJiere is no gain except by loss, 
There is no life except by deaths 

There is no vision save by faith^ 
Nor glory but by bearing shanie^ 
Nor justice but by talcing blame. 

And that Eternal Passion saith^ 

Be emptied of glory and right and name, 

W. Smith. 



[98] 



CHAPTEE EIGHTH 

9Iegiu^ a0 a Comforter 




T is interesting to study- 
Jesus as a comforter. The 
comfort he gave to his 
friends was strong and 
true. We have an illustra- 
tion of this in the Bethany- 
home. The sorrow was very great. Lazarus 
was dead, and Jesus came, not as other 
friends came, merely to mourn with the sis- 
ters, but to comfort their hearts in their 
overwhelming grief. 

First, he lifted the veil and gave them a 
glimpse of what lies beyond death. " Thy 
brother shall rise again." '' I am the resur- 
rection, and the life : he that believeth on 
me, though he die, yet shall he live : and 
whosoever livetli and believeth on me shall 
never die." Thus he opened a great window 
into the other world. This is all plainer to 
us than it could be at that time to Martha 
LofC. t 99 ] 



Cl^e jHintjstr^ of Comfort 

and Mary ; for a little while after Jesus had 
spoken these words, he himself passed 
through death, coming* again from the 
grave in immortal life. To those who sorrow 
over the departure of a Christian friend, 
it is a wonderful comfort to know the true 
teaching of the New Testament on the 
subject of dying. Death is not the end; 
it is a door which leads into fullness of 
life. 

Many in bereavement, though believing the 
doctrine of the future resurrection, fail to 
get present comfort from it. Jesus assured 
Martha that her brother should rise again. 
" Yes, I know that he shall rise again in the 
resurrection at the last day," she said. The 
hope was too distant to give her much com- 
fort. Her sense of present loss outweighed 
every other thought and feeling. She craved 
back again the companionship she had lost. 
Who that has stood by the grave of a pre- 
cious friend has not experienced the same 
feeling of inadequateness in the consolation 
that comes from even the strongest belief in 
[ 100] 



^lejsUjEj aj3 a Comforter 

a far-off rising- again of those who are in 
their graves ? 

The Master's reply to Martha's hungry 
heart-cry is very rich in its comfort. "I am 
the resurrection." This is one of the wonder- 
ful present tenses of Christian hope. To 
Martha's thought the comfort of resurrec- 
tion was a dim, far-away consolation. " I am 
the resurrection," said Jesus. The resurrec- 
tion was something present, not remote. 
His words embraced the whole blessed 
truth of immortal life. "Whosoever liveth 
and believeth on me shall never die." There 
is no death for those who are in Christ. 
The body dies, but the person lives on. The 
resurrection may be in the future, but there 
is no break whatever in the life of the be- 
liever in Christ. He is not here, our eyes see 
him not, our ears hear not his voice, we 
cannot touch him with our hands ; but he 
still lives, thinks, feels, remembers and 
loves. No power in his being* has been 
quenched by dying, no beauty dimmed, no 
faculty destroyed. 

[ 101 ] 



Ci^e imtm^ttt of Comfort 

'* He hath solved the sacred mystery^ 

He hath crossed the great divide : 
Within the sacred city, far 

Beyond the soundless tide. 
He the Mastef s face beholdeth 

Whom unseen we all adore. 
He praiseth him rejoicing 

On that bright celestial shore. 

** Praises he to Qod the Father, 

We all may live for aye, 
Though, folded like a garment^ 

We lay our body by. 
Eternal life we enter, 

By that full and swelling tide, 
Within the Golden City 

Where the gates stand open wide. ' * 

This is a part of the comfort which Jesus 
gave to his friends in their bereavement. 
He assured them that for the believer there 
is no death. There remains, for those who 
stay behind, the pain of separation and of 
loneliness, but for those who have passed 
over we need have no fear. 
How does Jesus comfort the friends who are 
[102] 



Slejsitjs ajs a Comforter 

left ? As we read over the story of the sorrow 
of this Bethany home, we find the answer to 
our question. You say, "He brought back 
their dead, thus comforting them by the 
literal undoing of the work of death and 
grief. If only he would do this now, in 
every case where love cries to him, that 
would be comfort indeed." But we must re- 
member that the return of Lazarus to his 
home was only a temporary restoration. He 
came back to his old life of mortality, temj)- 
tation, sickness, pain and death. He came 
back, too, only for a season. It was not a 
resurrection to immortal life ; it was only a 
restoration to mortal life. He must pass 
again through the mystery of dying, and 
the second time his sisters must experience 
the agony of separation and loneliness. We 
can scarcely call this comfort — it was merely 
a postponement for a little while of the final 
separation. 

But Jesus gave the sisters true comfort be- 

sides this. His own presence with them 

brought them comfort. They knew that he 

[103] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfott 

loved them. Many times before, when he 
had entered their home, ho had brought 
benedictions. They had a feeling of security 
and peace in his presence. Even their great 
grief lost something of its poignancy when 
the light of his face fell upon them. Every 
strong, tender and true human love has com- 
forting power. We can pass more easily 
through a sore trial if a trusted friend is 
beside us.^The believer can endure any sor- 
row if Jesus is with him. 
The trouble with us too often is that we do 
not realize the presence of our Master 
though he is close beside us, and miss alto- 
gether the comfort of his love. Mary stood 
with breaking heart by the empty grave, 
crying out for her Lord, who even then was 
close behind her, but unrecognized, "she, 
supposing him to be the gardener." A mo- 
ment later, however, the speaking of her 
name in the old familiar tone of voice re- 
vealed him to her, and instantly her sorrow 
was turned into joy. So we stand ofttimes in 
the deep shadows of grief, longing for com- 
[ 104 ] 



^lejsujs ajs a Comforter 

fort, yearning for love, while Christ is close 
beside us, closer tlian any human friend 
can be. If only we will dry our tears and 
look up into his face, believing, our soul 
shall be flooded with his wonderful love 
and our sorrow shall be swallowed up in 
fullness of joy. There is never the least 
doubt about the presence of Christ in our 
times of trouble ; it is only because we re- 
main unaware of that presence that we are 
not comforted. 

Another element of comfort for these sor- 
rowing sisters was in the sympathy of Jesus. 
There was a wonderful gentleness in his 
manner as he received first one and then the 
other. Mary's grief was deeper than Mar- 
tha's, and when Jesus saw her weeping he 
groaned in the spirit iand was troubled. 
Then, in the shortest verse in the Bible, we 
have a window into the very heart of the 
Master, and we find there the most wonder- 
ful sympathy. 

" Jesus wept." It is a great comfort in time 

of sorrow to have even human sympathy, to 

[ 105 3 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

know that somebody cares, that some one 
feels with us. It would have added some- 
thing — very much indeed — of comfort for the 
sisters, if John, or Peter, or James, had 
wept with them beside their brother's grave. 
But the tears of the Master meant incalcu- 
lably more. They told of the holiest sympa- 
thy this world ever saw — ^the Son of God 
weeping with two sisters in a great human 
sorrow. 

This shortest verse in the Bible was not 
written merely as a fragment of the narra- 
tive — it contains a revealing of the heart of 
Jesus for all time. Wherever a believer in 
Christ is sorrowing, One stands by, unseen, 
who shares the grief. There is immeasurable 
comfort in the revealing that the Son of God 
suffers with us in our suffering, is afflicted 
in all our affliction, is touched with the feel- 
ing of our infirmities. We can endure our 
trouble more quietly when we know this. 
There is yet another feature in the manner 
of Christ's comforting his friends which is 
suggestive. Too often human sympathy is 
[ 106 ] 



91e0u0 aiS a Comforter 

nothing but a sentiment. Our friends weep 
with us and then pass by on the other side. 
They tell us they are sorry for us, yet they 
do nothing- to help us. But the sympathy of 
Jesus at Bethany was very practical. Not 
only did he reveal his ajffection for his 
friends in coming* all the way from Peraea, 
to be with them in their trouble ; not only 
did he show his love by speaking to them 
words of divine comfort, which have made a 
shining track through the world ever since ; 
not only did he weep with them in their 
grief ; but he also wrought the greatest of 
all his miracles to restore to them their 
heart's joy. 

No doubt thousands of other friends of 
Jesus in bereavement have wished that he 
would comfort them in like manner, by giv- 
ing back their beloved. Ofttimes he does 
what is in elBfect the same — in answer to the 
prayer of faith he spares the lives of those 
who are dear and who seem about to be 
taken away. When we pray for the recovery 
of our friends who are sick, our prayer, if we 
[ 107 ] , 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

pray acceptably, always ends with, " Not 
my will, but thine, be done." Even the most 
passionate longing of our affection we sub- 
due in the quiet confidence of faith. If it is 
not best for our loved ones, if it would not 
be a real blessing, if it is not God's way, 
then, " Thy will be done." If we pray thus 
we must believe that the issue, whatever it 
may be, is God's best for us. If our friends 
are taken away there is unspeakable comfort 
in the confidence that this was God's will 
for them. If they recover^, it is Christ who 
has given them back to us, as he gave back 
Lazarus to Martha and Mary. 
The problem of sorrow in a Christian life is 
a very serious one. It is important that we 
have a clear understanding upon the sub- 
ject, in order that when it falls to our lot 
to suffer, we may receive blessing, and not 
hurt, from our experience. Every sorrow that 
comes into our life brings us something 
good from God. But we may reject the good, 
and if we do, we not only miss blessing, but 
receive harm instead. There is in Jesus 
[108] 



giejiujs ajs a Comforter 

Christ an infinite resource of consolation, 
and we have only to open our heart to re- 
ceive it. Then we shall pass through sorrow 
sustained by divine help and love, and shall 
come from it enriched in character and 
blessed in all our life. Our griefs set lessons 
for us to learn, and we should diligently 
seek to get into our life whatever it is that 
our Master would teach us. In every pain is 
folded the seed of a blessing — we should 
make sure that the seed shall have an op- 
portunity to grow, and that we may gather 
its fruit. In every tear a rainbow hides, but 
only when the sunshine falls upon the crys- 
tal drop is the splendor revealed. 

'* T^e dark brown mould'' s upturned 
By the sharp -pointed plough — 
And Fve a lesson learned, 

** My life is hut afield, 
Stretched out beneath God^s sky, 
Some harvest rich to yield. 

* * Where grows the golden grain ? 
Where faith f Where sympathy f 
In a furrow cut by pain,'' ^ 
[ 109] 



dSioD pm^elf ti^e TSt^t Comfort 



[111] 



My God, my God^ let me for once look on thee 
As though naught else existed^ we alone ! 
And as creation crumbles^ my soul's spark 
Expands till I can say^ even from myself — 
I need thee and I feel thee and I love thee. 

Browning. 



[112] 



CHAPTER NINTH 

(0OD f (mjself t]^e Tsm Comfort 




FTEE all, the most heart- 
satisfying comfort in time 
of trouble is found in God 
himself and not in any- 
thing God says or does. 
The Christian revelation 
concerning death brings comfort, when we 
learn to think of it as really only a process 
in which the life passes out of limitation, 
imperfection, and unattainment, emerging 
into rich beauty and wondrous enlargement. 
The truth of immortality also gives comfort, 
as we think of our friends entering upon an 
existence in blessedness which shall never 
have an end. There is comfort, too, in the as- 
surance that God makes no mistakes in any 
of his dealings with us, and that some- 
time we shall see beauty and good where 
now we see only what seems marring and 
hurt. We get a measure of comfort, also, in 
[113] 



Ci^e 0iinimv of Comfort 

the divine assurance that '' all things work 
together for good to them that love God," 
that sorrow has a mission, that within every 
trial God sends a blessing. 
But the comfort which means most to the 
heart that is bruised or broken is that which 
comes in the personal revealings of God and 
in the experiences of communion with him. 
One of the common failures of Christian 
faith is in being satisfied with God's gifts and 
not then going on to find God himself.^ God 
is better than his best gifts. Always it is true 
that "the gift without the giver is bare." 
Especially is this true of God and his gifts. 

** Lord, while showWing on my path 

Thy henedictions full and free. 

Whatever thou givest, fail not thou 

To give of thine own self to me. 
For dear as all thy blessings are. 
Thyself is more than all besides. 
This * Gift of gifts ' alone I crave, 
Bestow it, Lord, whatever betides. 
Come then what may. 
By night or day, 

[ 114 ] 



cl5oti l^im^elf tl)e "Beist Comfort 

Through sunshine or through storm. 

Safe in thy care^ 

What need I fear f 
Naught, naught can do me harm,'^ 

We have illustrations of this in human 
friendships. One comes into our life who 
does many things for us. His words en- 
courage, cheer, and strengthen us. His kind- 
ness adds to our pleasure. His helpfulness 
in many ways makes our burdens lighter. 
But we have never yet entered into close 
relations with him. There has been no 
occasion in our life, no time of need, to 
draw him near to us in those revealings in 
which the heart gives its best. We know 
him only through v/hat he has done for us 
in a general way. But at length there comes 
an experience in which, in iDlace of mere 
ministries of common kindness and help- 
fulness, the man gives us part of himself. ' 
We often hear it said of some friend : *' I 
knew him for years, and he did a great deal 
for me ; but I never learned what nobleness 
there was in his nature, what treasure of 

[ 115] 



Cl^e piinimv ol Comfort 

good there was in his friendship, until the 
time of my great need a few months since, 
w^hen he came into my life with all his mar- 
vellous power of personal helpfulness." No 
longer was it merely the things the man did 
that gave help, — it was now the man himself 
who poured out the wealth of his own life, 
and this was better than the best of all his 
gifts, and of all his services. 
It is the same with God. There are many 
people who receive countless blessings from 
him and who rest on his promises, who yet 
do not get to know God himself in a per- 
sonal way. There are many w^ho for a time 
trusted Christ and found great comfort in 
the assurances of his love, but who at 
length, in some season of trial, entered into 
close relations of personal friendship with 
him. In this revealing they found treasures 
of love, of sympathy, and of comfort, far 
surpassing the best they had ever experi- 
enced before. In seeking, therefore, for help 
in sorrow, we should never be content with 
the gifts of God alone, or with the comforts 
[ 116] 



(0ot» 1$immt tU ^ejst Comfort 

which come in his words of promise ; we 
should pass through all these to God him- 
self and seek satisfaction in the infinite 
blessedness of his love. 

It is thus that the Scriptures represent God. 
He is ever, with lavish hand, dispensing his 
mercies and benefits, but he would not 
have us content with these. **He maketh 
his sun to rise on the evil and the good, 
and sendeth rain on the just and the un- 
just." But he desires to manifest himself to 
his children as he does not to the world. 
The great Bible saints found their satisfac- 
tion and their help, not in God's gifts, but 
in God himself. Thus the reason for David's 
sublime assurance, " I shall not want," was 
not because he had great stores of God's 
gifts laid up, but because " the Lord is my 
shepherd." His confidence was not in the 
wealth which God had given him, which 
would cover all his wants for the future, but 
in God himself. In another psalm the 
writer's intense longing is not for any mere 
tokens of divine goodness, any mere bene- 
[ 117 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

fits or favors, but for God himself. '* My 
soul thirstetli for God, for the living God." 
His thirst was unappeasable in any way but 
in fellowship with God. Nothing- that God 
could have given him of the richest of his 
gifts, of the sweetest blessings of his hand, 
would have satisfied him. It was for God 
himself, the living God, that he thirsted. 
The human soul was made for God, and God 
alone can meet its need. 
The only heart-filling comfort, therefore, in 
time of sorrow is that which is in God him- 
self. It is thus, too, that our Father desires 
to bless us ; he asks for our fullest trust, 
and he would reveal himself to us in ten- 
derest personal ways. After Horace Bush- 
nell's death there were found, dimlj^ pen- 
cilled on a sheet of paper, laid in his Bible, 
these words : '' My mother's loving instinct 
was from God, and God was in her love to 
me first — which love was deeper than hers 
and more protracted. Long years ago she 
vanished, but God stays by me still, em- 
bracing me in my gray hairs as tenderly 
[ 118] 



(001) i^imjself tt^t I3ejst Comfort 

and carefully as she did in my infancy, and 
giving to me as my joy and the principal 
glory of my life, that he lets me know him, 
and helps me, with real confidence, to call 
him my Father," 

That is very beautiful. Mother-love is God 
coming to us in an incarnation which even 
infancy soon learns to understand. "What the 
mother is to her baby, God is to his child 
unto the end. The Scriptures strive contin- 
ually to make the truth of the divine near- 
ness real to us. We are taught to call God 
our Father, but there is something about 
the mother's relation to her child Avhich 
is even closer and tenderer than a father's. 
So when God is seeking most earnestly to 
make his people understand the tenderness 
of his love and yearning for them, he says, 
**As one whom his mother comforteth, so 
will I comfort you." 

** JV^o word of all the Scripture 

Thrills a sweeter chord than this, 
Stirs a richer retrospection 
Of the souVs experienced blisSf 
[119] 



Ci^e jEtntistrt of Comfort 

Than this promise^ where the Bpirit strengthens 

weak and timid faith 
With assurance of his comfort, ^ As a mother 

comforteth,' '* 

Jesus went straight to his Father with all 
his troubles. He was not content with any 
logic of comfort, or any promise of divine 
good in the final outworking of events. He 
believed all this, but in his trial he wanted 
the blessing of his Father's presence, the 
warmth of the Father's embrace. Continu- 
ally we find him fleeing away from the 
throng, from hatred and persecution, to com- 
mune with God. In the hour of his extremest 
sorrow, while he sought also human sym- 
pathy, it was to his Father that he turned 
for real comfort. " Being in an agony he 
prayed." Our Master's example should be 
our guide in every experience of grief or 
trial. Persuasions, arguments, and promises, 
however true, precious, and divine they may 
be, will never bring perfect quiet to a heart 
in its anguish. We may listen to all that 
earth's most skilful comforters can tell us 
[120] 



i 



(0OD i^imjself tl^e OBejSt Comfort 

even of the consolations of the word of God, 
but our lonely spirit will be lonely still. 
There may be an assent to all that is said to 
us, and our mind may acquiesce, finding a 
measure of rest ; yet still in the depths of 
our being we remain uncomforted. Some- 
thing is wanting. But if we creep into God's 
bosom, and nestle there like a tired child in 
the mother's arms, and let God's love enfold 
and embrace us, and flow into our heart, 
however deep the sorrow may be, we shall 
be comforted, satisfied. And even if every 
source of human joy has been cut off, and we 
are left utterly bereft, we can still find in 
God that which will suffice. Mrs. Browning 
has put this faith in strong way : 

If I could find 
No love in all the world for comforting, 
JSfor any path hut hollowly did ring^ 
Where ''dust to dust " the love from life disjoined ; 
And if before those sepulchres unmoving 
I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb 
Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth), 
Crying, ' ' Where are ye, O my loved and loving V — 

[121] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

I]:now a Voice would soundy ''Daughter, I am, 
Ca:i I suffice for heaven, and not for earth ? " 

Tliere is a blessing in true human sympa- 
thy. God sends our friends to us to bring us 
little measures of his own love, — little cup- 
fuls of his grace. But he himself is the 
only true comforter. His love alone is great 
enough to fill our heart, and his hand alone 
has skill to bind up our wounds. 



[ 122] 



C^e ?^utt of jforgetttng ^orroto 



[123] 



Thou knowest that through our tears 

Of hasty ^ selfish weeping 
Comes surer sin^ and for our petty fears 

Of loss thou hast in keeping 
A greater gain than all of which we dreamed ; 

Thou knowest that in grasping 
The bright possessions which so precious seemed 

We lose them ; but if clasping 
Thy faithful hand^ we tread with steadfast feet 

The path of thy appointing^ 
There waits for us a treasury of sweet 

Delight^ royal anoi7iiing 
With oil of gladness and of strength. 

Helen Hunt Jackson. 



i 



[ 124] 



CHAPTER TENTH 

Ci^e is^ut^ of forgetting ^crroto 




OREOW makes deep 
scars; it writes its record 
ineffaceably on the heart 
which suffers. We really 
never get over our great 
griefs ; we are never alto- 
gether the same after we have passed 
through them as we were before. 

* ' There follows a mist and a weeping rain, 
And life is never the same again^ 

In one sense, sorrow never can be forgot- 
ten. The cares of a long, busy life may su- 
pervene, but the memory of the first deep 
sorrows in early youth lives on in perpetual 
freshness, as the little flowers live on be- 
neath the cold snowdrifts, through all the 
long winter. The old woman of ninety re- 
members her grief and sense of loss seventy 
years ago, when God took her first baby out 
[125] 



Ci^e 0immv of Comfort 

of her bosom. We never can actually forget 
oul sorrows, nor is it meant tliat we should 
do so. 

Ti ere is a way of remembering grief that is 
net wrong, that is not a mark of insubmis- 
sic n, and that brings rich blessing to the 
hedbxt and life; there is a humanizing and 
fertilizing influence in sorrow which has 
been rightly accepted and cheerfully borne. 
''The memory of things precious keepeth 
warm the heart that once did hold them." 
liecollections of losses, if sweetened by 
faith, hope, and love, are benedictions to the 
lives they overshadow. Indeed, they are 
poor who have never suffered, and have 
none of sorrow's marks upon them ; they 
ara poorer far who, having suffered, have 
forgotten their sufferings and bear in their 
lifa no beautifying traces of the experi- 
ences of pain through which they have 
prossed. 

" We turn unblessed from faces fresh with 
beauty, 
\lTnsoftened yet by fears, 
[ 126 ] 



Cl^e ^utv of iforgetting ^orrctu 

To those lohose lines are chased by pain a id 
duty 
And know the touch of tears. 

'* The heart whose chords the gentle hand of sad- 
ness 
Has touched in minor strain^ 
Is filled with gracious joys, and knows a glad- 
ness 
All others seek in vain. 

" How poor a life where pathos tells no story. 

Whose pathways reach no shrine, 
Which, free from suffering, misses, too, the 
glory 

Of sympathies divine / " 

Yet there is a way of remembering sorrow 
which brings no blessing, no enrichment — 
which does not soften the heart nor add 
beauty to the life. There is an insubmissi /e 
remembering which brings no joy, whi^h 
keeps the heart bitter, which shuts out t le 
sunshine, which broods over losses and 
trials. Only evil can result from such mem- 
ory of grief. In a sense, we ought not to 
C 127 ] 



Cl^e pLini^ttv of Comfort 

remember our sorrow. We certainly ought 
not to stop in tlie midst of our duties and 
turn aside and sit down by the graves of 
our losses, staying there while the tides of 
busy life sweep on. We should leave our 
griefs behind us while we go on reverently, 
faithfully, and quietly in our appointed way 
of duty. 

There are many people, however, who have 
not learned this lesson ; they live perpetu- 
ally in the shadows of the trials and losses 
of their bygone days. Nothing could be 
more unwholesome or more untrue to the 
spirit of Christian faith than such a course. 
What would be said or thought of the man 
who should build a house for himself out of 
black stones, paint all tlie walls black, hang 
black curtains over the dark-stained win- 
dows, put black carpets on every floor, fes- 
toon the chambers with funereal crape, have 
only sad pictures on the walls and sad 
books on the shelves, and should have no 
lovely plants growing and no sweet flowers 
blooming anywhere about his home ? Would 
[ 128] 



Cl^e J^iit^ of forgetting ^orroto 

we not look upon sucli a person with pity, 
as one into whose soul the outer darkness 
had crept, eclipsing the beauty of life ? 
Yet that is just the way some people do 
live. They build for their soul houses just 
like that ; they have a memory like a sieve, 
which lets all the bright and joyous things 
floAV away while it retains all the sad and 
bitter things ; they forget the pleasant inci- 
dents and experiences, the happy horn's* the 
days that came laden with gladness as 
ships come from distant shores with cargoes 
of spices ; but there has been no painful 
event in all their life whose memory is not 
kept ever vivid. They vrill talk for hours of 
their griefs and bereavements in the past, 
dvv^elling with a strange, morbid pleasure 
on each sad incident. They keep the old 
wounds ever unhealed in their heart ; they 
keep continually in sight pictures and rem- 
iniscences of all their lost joys, but none of 
the joys that are not lost ; they forget all 
their ten thousand blessings in the abiding 
and absorbing recollections of the two or 
[129 J 



Cl^e pUnimv of Comfort 

three sorrows that have come amid the mul- 
titudinous and unremembered joys. 
Tennyson makes Rizpah say, ''The night 
has crept into my heart, and begun to dark- 
en my eyes." So it is with these people who 
live perpetually in the shadows and glooms 
of their own sorrows. The darkness has 
crept into their soul, and all the joyous 
brightness has passed out of their life, until 
their very vision has become so blurred 
that they can no more even discern the glad 
and lovely colors in God's universe. 
Few perversions of life could be sadder 
than this dwelling ever in the glooms and 
shadows of past griefs. It is the will of God 
that we should turn our eyes away from our 
sorrows, that we should let the dead past 
bury its dead, while we go on with reverent 
earnestness to the new duties and the new 
joys that await us. By standing and weep- 
ing over the grave where it is buried we 
cannot get back what we have lost. When 
David's child was dead, he dried his tears 
and went at once to God's house and wor- 
[130] 



J 



Cl^e ?^utr of forgetting ^orroto 

shipped, saying, " Now he is dead, where- 
fore should I fast ? can I bring him back 
again ? I shall go to him, but he shall not 
return to me." Instead of weeping over the 
grave where his dead was not, he turned his 
eyes forward toward the glory in which his 
child was waiting for him, and began with 
new ardor to press toward that home. He 
turned all the pressure of his grief into the 
channels of holy living. 
That is the way every believer in Christ 
should deal with his sorrows. "Weeping in- 
consolably beside a grave can never give 
back love's vanished treasure. Nor can any 
blessing come out of such sadness. It does 
not make the heart any softer ; it develops 
no feature of Christlikeness in the life : it 
only embitters our present joys and stunts 
the growth of all beautiful things. The 
graces of the heart are like flower-plants ; 
they grow well only in the sunshine. 
There was a mother who lost by death a 
lovely daughter. For a long time the mother 
had been a consistent Christian, but when 
[ 131 ] 



Cl^e piini^tvv of Comfort 

her child died she refused to be comforted. 
Her pastor and other Christian friends 
sought by sympathy to draw her thoughts 
away from "her grief, yet all their effort was 
vain. She would look at nothing but her 
sorrow ; she spent a portion of nearly every 
day beside the grave .where her dead was 
buried ; she would listen to no words of con- 
solation ; she would not lift an eye toward 
the heaven into which her child had gone ; 
she went back no more to the sanctuary, 
where in the days of her joy she had loved 
to worship ; she shut out of her heart every 
conception of God's love and kindness and 
thought of him only as the powerful Being 
who had taken her sweet child away from 
her bosom. Thus dwelling in the darkness 
of inconsolable grief, the joy of her religion 
failed her. Hope's bright visions no longer 
cheered her, and her heart grew cold and 
sick with despair. She refused to quit her 
sorrow and to go on to new joys and toward 
thp glory in which for Christian faith all 
earth's lo^t things wait. 

[132] 



Cl^e ^utv of ^orgettrng ^otvo'vo 

There was another mother who lost a child 
— one of the rarest and sweetest children 
God ever sent to this earth. Never was a 
heart more completely crushed than was 
the heart of this bereft mother, yet she did 
not, like the other woman, sit down in the 
gloom and dwell there ; she did not shut 
out the sunshine and thrust away the bless- 
ing* of divine comfort. She recognized her 
Father's hand in the grief that had fallen so 
heavily upon her, and bowed in sweet acqui- 
escence to God's will ; she opened her heart 
to the glorious truth of the immortal life, and 
was comforted by the simple faith that her 
child was with Christ. She remembered, 
too, that she had duties to the living, and 
turned away from the grave where her little 
one slept in such security, requiring no 
more any service of earthly affection, to 
minister to those who still lived and needed 
her care and love. The result was that her 
life grew richer and more beautiful beneath 
its baptism of sore grief. She came from the 
deep shadow a lovelier Christian, and her 
[ 133 J 



' Ci^e 0i\mmv of Comfort 

home and the whole community shared the 
blessing which she had found in her sor- 
row. 

It is easy to see which of these two ways of 
enduring- sorrow is the true one. "We should 
forget what we have suffered. The joy set 
before us should shine upon our grief as the 
sun shines through clouds, glorifying them. 
We should cherish sacredly and tenderly 
the memory of our Christian dead, but 
should train ourself to think of them as not 
in the grave, but in the home of the blessed 
with Christ, safely folded, waiting for us. 
Thus the bright and blessed hopes of im- 
mortality should fill us with tranquillity 
and healthy gladness as we move over the 
waves of trial. 

** He taketh that we may for ever keep : 

All that makes life most beautiful and deep, 
Our dearest hopes, by sorrow glorified, 
Beneath his everlasting wings abide ; 
For oh, it is our one true need to find 
Earth's vanished bliss in heaverily glory 
shrined. ' * 

[ 134 ] 



Cl^e J^utv of forgetting ^orrotu 

We should remember that the blessings 
which have gone away are not all that God 
has for us. This summer's flowers will all 
fade by and by, when winter's cold breath 
smites them — we shall not be able to find 
one of them in the fields or gardens during 
the long, cold, dreary months to come — yet 
we shall know all the while that God has 
other flowers preparing, just as fragrant 
and as lovely as those which have perished. 
Spring will come again, and under its warm 
breath the earth will be covered once more 
with floral beauty as rich as that which fad- 
ed in th€^ autumn. So the joys that have 
gone from our home and our heart are not 
the only joys ; God has others in store just 
as rich as those we have lost, and in due 
time he will give us these to fill our emp- 
tied hands. 

One of the most serious dangers of incon- 
solable sorrow is that it may lead us to neg- 
lect our duty to the living in our mourning 
for the dead. This we should never do. God 
does not desire us to give up our work be- 
[135] 



Cl^e piini^tvv of Comfort 

cause our heart is broken. We may not even 
pause long- with our sorrows ; we may not 
sit down beside the graves of our dead and 
linger there, cherishing our grief. " Let the 
dead bury their own dead," said the Master, 
to one who wished to bury his father, and 
then follow him ; " but go thou and publish 
abroad the kingdom of God." Not even the 
tender offices of love might detain him who 
was called to the higher service. The lesson 
is for all, and for all time. Duty ever press- 
es, and we have scarcely laid our dead away 
out of our sight before its earnest calls that 
will not be denied are sounding in our ears, 
bidding us hasten to new tasks. 
A distinguished general related this pathet- 
ic incident of his own experience in time 
of war. The g-eneraPs son was a lieutenant 
of battery. An assault was in progress. The 
father was leading his division in a charge ; 
as he pressed on in the field, suddenly his 
eye was caught by the sight of a dead 
battery-officer lying just before him. One 
glance showed him it wa^ his own son. His 
[ 136 ] 



Cl)e HButv of (forfietting ^orroto 

fatherly impulse was to stop beside the 
loved form and give vent to his grief, but 
the duty of the moment demanded that he 
should press on in the charge ; so, quickly 
snatching one hot kiss from the dead lips, 
he hastened away, leading his command in 
the assault. 

Ordinarily the pressure is not so intense, 
and we can pause longer to weep and do 
honor to the memory of our dead. Yet in all 
sorrow the principle is the same. God does 
not desire us to waste our life in tears. We 
are to put our grief into new energy of ser- 
vice. Sorrow should make us more reverent, 
more earnest, more helpful to others. God's 
work should never be allowed to suffer 
while we stop to weep. The fires must still 
be kept burning on the altar, and the wor- 
ship must go on. The work in the house- 
hold, in the school, in the store, in the field, 
must be taken up again — the sooner, the 
better. 

Ofttimes, indeed, the death of one in the cir- 
cle is a divine voice calling the living to new 
[ 137] 



Ci^e piini^tvv of Comfott 

duty. Thus, when a father dies, the mother is 
ordained to double responsibility. If there 
is a son of thoughtful age, his duty is not 
bitter grieving, but prompt taking up of the 
work that has fallen from the father's dead 
hands. When our friends are taken from us, 
our bereavement is a call, not to sad weep- 
ing, but to new duty. 

* ' It bids us do the work that they laid down — 
Take up the song where they broke off the 
strain ; 
iSo journey till we reach the heavenly town 
Where are laid up our treasures and our crown. 
And our lost loved ones will he found again. ' ' 

Sometimes it is care only that is laid down 
when death comes, as when a mother puts 
her baby away into the grave ; no work 
drops out of the little hands for the mother 
to take up. But may we not then sa}^ that, 
since God has emptied her hands of the 
care and duty which had filled them, he 
has some other work for them to do? He 
has set them free from their own tasks, that 
[ 138 ] 



Ci^e ^utv of {forgetting ^orroto 

with their trained skill and their enriched 
sympathies they may serve others. 
In a sick-room there was a little rose-bush in 
a pot in a window. There was only one rose 
on the bush, and its face was turned full 
toward the light. This fact was noticed and 
spoken of, when one said that the rose 
would look no other way but toward the 
light. ExiDeriments had been made with it ; 
it had been turned away from the window, 
its face toward the shadow of the interior, 
but in a little time it would resume its old 
position. With wonderful persistence it re- 
fused to face the darkness, and insisted on 
ever looking toward the light. 
The flower has its lesson for us. We should 
never allow ourself to face toward life's 
glooms ; we should never sit down in the 
shadows of any sorrow and let the night 
darken over us into the gloom of despair ; 
we should turn our face away toward the 
light and quicken every energy for braver 
duty and truer, holier service. Grief should 
always make us better and give us new skill 
[ 139 ] 



Cl^e ^ini^v of Comfort 

and power ; it should make our heart softer, 
our spirit kindlier, our touch more gentle ; 
it should teach us its holy lessons, and we 
should learn them, and then go on, with 
sorrow's sacred ordination upon us, to new 
love and better service. 
It is thus, too, that lonely hearts find their 
sweetest, richest comfort. Sitting down to 
brood over our sorrows, the darkness deep- 
ens about us and our little strength changes 
to weakness ; but if we turn away from the 
gloom and take up the tasks of comforting 
and helping others, the light will come 
again and we shall grow strong. 

** When all our hopes are gone, 
^Tis well our hands must still keep toiling on 

For others^ sake ; 
For strength to hear is found in duty done. 
And he is blest indeed who learns to make 
The joy of others cure his own heartache,'''' 



[ 140] 



effectual pvavtv 



[ 141 ] 



We kneel how weaJc^ we rise how full of power. 
Why therefore should we do ourselves this wrong ^ 
Or others — that we are not always strong^ 
That we are ever overborne with care^ 
That we should ever weak or heartless Z>e, 
Anxious or troubled^ when with us is prayer^ 
And joy and strength and courage are with thee ? 

Trench. 



[ 142] 



CHAPTEE ELEVENTH 

effectual pvanv 




EFECTUAL prayer is 
prayer that avails. A 
Scripture word tells us 
that " the effectual fervent 
prayer of a righteous man 
availeth much." In the Re- 
vised Version there is a suggestive change 
in the rendering, making it read, '* The sup- 
plication of a righteous man availeth much 
in its working." So prayer works. There are 
those who tell us that the effect of prayer is 
only subjective. You are in some trouble and 
plead with God to take away that which is 
so hard to bear. The trouble is not removed, 
but through your supplication you are 
brought into the spirit of acquiescence and 
no longer plead for relief. Your prayer has 
changed nothing in your circumstances — it 
has only brought your mind into accord 
with your condition. 

[ 143] 



Ci^e piini^ttv of Comfort 

No doubt there are many prayers whose 
answer seems to come in this way. David 
pleaded for his sick child that it might 
live. The child died. But when David knew 
it was dead, he rose from his place of peni- 
tent pleading-, washed away his tears and 
went to God s house and worshipped. Then, 
returning to his home, he astonished the 
members of his household by the way he 
bore himself. His prayer had not kept his 
child in life, but it had brought into the 
king's heart such divine comfort, that his 
sorrow was turned into joy. 
St. Paul earnestly and importunately be- 
sought the Lord to take away his " thorn in 
the flesh." The painful affliction was not re- 
moved, and yet there is evidence that the 
prayer availed in its working. There came 
to the apostle a word of assurance — "My 
grace is sufficient for thee : for my power is 
made perfect in weakness." Immediately 
afterward we hear the triumphant rejoicing, 
** Most gladly therefore will I rather glory 
in my weaknesses, that the strength of Christ 

[ 144 ] 



I 



effectual pvavtt 



may rest upon me/' It is evident that while 
the prayer was not answered in the remov- 
ing- of the trouble, it was answered in the 
coming" into the apostle's heart of such an 
accession of divine strength that he was 
able now to keep his thorn and rejoice, not 
merely in spite of it, but even on account of 
it. The answer which came was indeed a 
greater manifestation of the power of prayer 
than if the trial had been wholly taken 
away. 

In our Lord's experience in Gethsemane we 
have another example of a like working of 
prayer. The cuj) for whose taking away the 
Holy Sufferer pleaded with strong crying 
and tears was not withdrawn, and yet the 
anguish of his heart grew less and less in- 
tense until we hear the word of victory, 
*^ The cup which the Father hath given me, 
shall I not drink it ? " The supplication 
availed in its working, not in saving him 
from the bitter experiences on which he was 
entering, but in the giving of help which 
enabled him to pass through all the terrible 
[ 145 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

fifteen hours that followed, without mur- 
muring. 

In all these cases there was more than a 
subjective influence, bringing the suppliant 
into a spirit of acquiescence to that which 
was inevitable : there was an actual divine 
working in the heart, imparting grace for 
the hour. If you have a friend carrying a 
heavy load, there are two ways in which you 
may help him — you may take part of his 
burden and carry it for him, or you may put 
into his heart cheer and courage, making 
him stronger, so that he can bear his bur- 
den gladly himself. The latter way of help- 
ing is quite as effective as the former, and 
ofttimes it is a great deal wiser. We have a 
very inadequate conception of prayer if we 
think of our Father as always, or even usu- 
ally, at every cry of ours, hastening to lift 
away the burden we think too heav}^ or to 
give us the pleasure or gratification we ask 
him to give. In very many instances such 
answering of prayer would be unkindness, 
not love. Then God answers, not by giving 
[ 146] 



effectual pvavn 



us what we cry for, but by imparting- to us 
strength to do without it and to rejoice in 
his will. But the prayer as really avails in 
its working as if the thing we sought had 
been granted. 

** Father, I do not ask 
That thou wilt choose some other task 
And make it mine, I pray 
But this : Let every day 
Be moulded still 
By thine own hand ; my will 
Be only thine, however deep 
I have to bend thy hand to keep. 
Let me not simply do, hut he content, 
Sure that the little crosses each are sent ; 
And no mistake can ever he 
With thine own hand to choose for me.*' 

Then there are many prayers which bring 
the answer in the very form that is sought. 
Elijah prayed fervently that it might not 
rain ; and it rained not on the earth for three 
years and six months. He prayed again ; and 
the heaven gave rain and the earth brought 
forth her fruit. The Bible is full of such il- 
[ 147] 



€]^e piini^tvv of Comfort 

lustrations. Then every devout Christian 
has many examples in his own personal ex- 
perience. We may say, therefore, that all 
true prayer is effectual, avails in its work- 
ing. There are supposed prayers which get 
no answer — prayers, those who make them 
call them, perhaps wondering why nothing 
comes of them. The Master tells us that 
there are those who pray in order that men 
may think them devout. Their petitions as- 
cend not upward. St. James says there are 
those who ask and receive not because they 
ask amiss, that they may spend it in their 
pleasures. But every true prayer is effect- 
ual, avails in its working. 
What, then, is effectual prayer ? It is easy to 
gather from the teachings of holy Scripture 
the answer to this question. Jesus Christ 
is our great Teacher, and he spoke many 
words about prayer. He himself was a man 
of prayer and knew perfectly how to pray 
so as to receive an answer. Perhaps most 
of us altogether underestimate the value of 
what we call the Lord's Prayer, as definite 

[ 148 ] 



dBffectual iDrater 



instruction concerning the manner in which 
we should pray. It was given by the Master 
to his disciples, in answer to their request 
that he would teach them to pray. We may 
study it, therefore, as the divine ideal of ac- 
ceptable and effectual prayer. 
To begin with, we must enter at the right 
gate, the children's gate. We must approach 
God, saying, " Our Father." This means that 
we must come to God in prayer as his chil- 
dren. One writes : 

'* My little girl to-night with childish glee, 

Although her months had nurabered not twO" 

score, 
Escaped her nurse, and at my study door, 
With tiny fingers rapping, spoke to me. 
Though faint her words, I heard them trem- 
blingly 
Fall from her lips as if the darkness bore 
Its weight upon her : ' Father's child ! ' no 
more 
I waited for, but straightway willingly 
I brought the sweet intruder into light 
With happy laughter.'^ 
[ 149 ] 



Clie pLini^v of Comfort 

It is thus that we should come always to 
God in prayer. Whenever we do, we need 
not doubt that as quickly as the words, 
'' Abba, Father," are spoken, the door will 
open to us. 

Much instruction is found in the order of 
the petitions of the Lord's Prayer. We are 
apt to think first of our own frets and wor- 
ries, our own wants and desires, when we 
come to God, and to begin at once to pour 
these into his ear. But it is not thus that we 
are taught by our Master to do. Half of the 
Lord's Prayer is finished before there is a 
word about the earthly needs of him who is 
praying. We are to pray first for the hallow- 
ing of our Father's name. It is a great deal 
more important that we in our own life 
shall be interpreters of God, than that our 
burden shall be lifted aAvay, our business 
prospered, our sorrows comforted. Next we 
are to pray for the coming of our Father's 
kingdom. This desire should be dearer to 
our heart than anything that concerns 
merely our own comfort, pleasure, or ad- 
[ 150 ] 



Effectual pvavtt 



vancement. Then we are to ask that God's 
will may be done in earth as it is in heaven. 
Of course it is the will of God as it concerns 
our own personal life that we have to do 
with immediately. We are to seek that our 
will may be lost in his, that the law of 
heaven shall become the law within the 
realm of our heart. This, too, must come be- 
fore any mention of need of ours. 
It is not a mere accident that the petitions 
of the Lord's Prayer are arranged as they 
are. The order certainly teaches us that the 
first things in prayer are not to be the af- 
fairs of our own personal life, but the great 
matters which concern the name, the king- 
dom, and the will of God. 

' * It is not prayer — 

This clamor of our eager wants 
That fills the air 

With wearying, selfish plaints. 

* * It is true prayer 

To seek the Oiver more than gift ; 
God's life to share y 
And love— for this our cry to lift ' ' 
[ 151 ] 



C]^e piinimv of Comfort 

It is very comforting, however, as we go on, 
to find that there is a place in the Master's 
model of prayer for the commonest wants of 
daily life ; that we may ask our Father even 
for the bread which our body needs. Only 
we should never forget to keep self and all 
personal wants and troubles in their true 
place, far secondary to our longing and ask- 
ing for the things of God. Only that prayer 
is effectual in the largest measure which 
puts the honor of God and the interests of 
God and his cause above all else in its de- 
sire. Self creeps into our praying so easily 
and so insidiously that we need always to 
be on our guard lest we dishonor God. If 
we do, our prayer cannot avail. 
Another condition of effectual prayer sug- 
gested in our Lord's model form is the 
spirit of forgiveness. '* Forgive us as we for- 
give." Then so important did Jesus regard 
this petition that he returned to it again, 
saying : " If ye forgive men their trespasses, 
your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 
But if ye forgive not men their trespasses 
[ 152 ] 



cBffectual pvavtv 



neither will your Father forgive your tres- 
X^asses/' It is very clear that forgiveness is 
one of the essentials in the prayer which 
God will hear and answer. Supplications 
breathed out of a bitter, resentful heart do 
not find their way to heaven. 
Indeed, the whole of the Lord's Prayer is a 
strong protest against selfishness. We are 
not to go to God with our own wants only. 
All the petitions require us to unite others 
with ourself . We must come to God as " Our 
Father," and when we ask for daily bread 
we must think of all who are hungry ; and 
when we plead for the forgiveness of our sins 
we must ask forgiveness for others as w^ell. 
Selfishness at the throne of grace vitiates 
the most eloquent pleading. Love is a con- 
dition of effectual prayer. 
There • are other elements in the prayer 
which avails in its working. Our Lord 
teaches us that we must be importunate. 
"Men ought always to pray and not to faint." 
Ofttimes the reason no answer comes to our 
supplication is because we lack earnestness. 
[ 153 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

It is the pleading that will not give up un- 
til it gets the blessing which prevails with 
God. Then faith is essential. Prayer with- 
out faith has no power. Faith as a grain of 
mustard-seed, said the Master, will remove 
mountains ; that is, will overcome the great- 
est diflSculties and obstacles. To pray in 
faith is to pray as seeing him who is invis- 
ible, entering into closest felloAvship with 
him. Such believing attaches us to Christ 
so that his life flows through us. Nothing is 
impossible to him that believeth. 
To the lowliest and feeblest of God's children 
is given the privilege of prevailing prayer. 
We may lay hold upon God's strength. AVe 
may make intercession for others and call 
down upon them the most gracious bless- 
ing. We may unlock storehouses of divine 
goodness and gather treasures at will. All 
things in earth and heaven are within the 
reach of him Avho prays. 

** W hate' 67' is good to wish, ask that of heaven. 
Though it he what thou canst not hope to 
see ; 

[ 154 ] 



effectual l^tater 



Pray to he perfect, though material leaven 

Forbid the spirit so on earth to be : 
But if for any wish thou dar'st not pray, 
Then pray to God to east that wish away, ' ' 



[ 155] 



Ci^e Cffacement of ^eU 



[ 157] 



We mar our work for God by noise and bustle ; 
Can we not do our party and not be heard f 
Why should we cai'e that men should see us 
With our tools, and praise the skill with which we use 
them ? " 



[ 158] 



CHAPTEE TWELFTH 

Cl^e dBffacement of ^elf 




NE of the most difficult 
lessons to learn is self-ef- 
facement. Self always dies 
hard. It seems to us that 
we have a right to put our 
name on every piece of 
work we do, and to get full honor for it. We 
like people to know of the good and virtu- 
ous things we do, of the kindnesses we show, 
of our benevolences, our self-sacrifices, our 
heroism and services. 

Yet we all know that this is not the attitude 
toward ourself and our own work which our 
Lord approves. Jesus expressly bids his 
followers to take heed that they do not their 
righteousness before men to be seen of 
them. The last phrase is the emphatic one — 
*'to be seen of men." We must often do our 
righteousness before men ; indeed, we are 
commanded to let our light shine before 
[ 159 ] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

men that they may see our g-ood works and 
g-lorify our Father. It is not doing worthy 
things before men that is condemned, but 
doing them in order to be seen of men. We 
are not to live for the eye of men and for 
human praise, but for the eye of God and 
for his approval. 

Jesus proceeded in the same connection to 
say that when we do alms we should not let 
our left hand know what our right hand is 
doing, that our alms may be in secret. Then 
God alone can recompense us — and he will. 
Regarding prayer, too, the same counsel is 
given. There were those who made a show 
of their private devotions, performing them 
in some conspicuous place, in order that 
they might be seen of men, that men might 
regard them very devout. ** They have their 
reward," said Jesus. They get what they 
seek — they are seen of men, but they are 
not heard of God. Jesus exhorts that, avoid- 
ing this display of devoutness to attract 
men's attention, his disciples should enter 
into their inner chamber when they pray, 
[160] 



Cl^e Cffaccment of ^elf 

and should shut their door and pray to the 
Father, who seeth in secret. We are not to 
infer from this that no prayer ever should 
be made in public — public jorayer is an 
important duty ; the teaching* is that all 
acts of devotion should be for the eye of 
God alone. We should never do an^^thing 
iii order to get human notice and commen- 
dation. 

We may apply this teaching to all life. We 
are to live only to please God. Jesus said of 
himself — and his mode of life v^^as a pattern 
for us — '' I do always those things that 
please my Father." He never wrought for 
human eye, but always for the divine ap- 
proval. It mattered not to him, therefore, 
whether any but God knew what he was 
doing. The prophet said of him, *' He shall 
not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to 
be heard in the street," and his life fulfilled 
this foretelling. If we can learn this lesson 
of living and working for God's eye only, it 
will give us a wonderful sense of freedom, 
will exalt our ideals of life and duty, and 
[ 161 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

will inspire us always to the best that we 
can do. 

There is another phase of the same lesson. 
Not only should we do all our work for the 
divine approval, but we should not be care- 
ful to get our own name on what we do. If 
it is done solely for the honor of Christ, why 
should we be solicitous to have everybody 
know our part in it ? Should it not be honor 
enough to have Christ accept our work and 
use it ? 

John the Baptist, in his life and ministry, 
illustrated the grace of self-effacement as 
few other men have done. When he first 
began to preach, great throngs flocked 
about him. When Jesus came and began to 
preach, the crowds melted away from John 
and went after the new preacher. It was not 
easy for John to see this and not be dis- 
turbed by it. But it caused him no bitter 
pang. He rejoiced in seeing Jesus thus hon- 
ored, though at the cost of his own fame. 
**He must increase, but I must decrease," 
was his answer, when his disciples grew en- 
[ 162] 



Cl^e cBffacement of ^elf 

vious of the Galilaean Eabbi. He under- 
stood that the highest and noblest use to 
which his life could be put was to add to 
the honor of his Master. He was glad to be 
unnoted, to have his own name extinguished, 
that the glory of Christ might shine the 
more brightly, 

The same renunciation of self should char- 
acterize all who follow Christ. They should 
seek only to get recognition for him, willing 
themselves to be unrecognized and unhon- 
ored. Yet not always are the Master's 
friends content to be nothing that the 
praise may be given to Christ. Too often 
do they insist upon having their own name 
written in bold letters on their work. It 
would be the mark of a higher degree in 
spiritual attainment if we were willing to be 
anonymous in every service for Christ. Even 
in the things men do which are necessarily 
conspicuous, in which it is impossible to 
hide the hand that works, there should 
always be in the heart the paramount desire 
to please and honor Christ. If in what they 
[163] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

do, however beautiful and worthy it may be 
in itself, the wish is "to be seen of men," 
the beauty is blotted, and the worthiness 
vitiated. Only what we do for the honor of 
Christ is really gold and silver and pre- 
cious stones in the building ; all the rest is 
but wood, hay, and stubble, which cannot 
abide. 

Another practical application of this lesson 
is to the way we do the common deeds of 
love in our every-day life. We should seek to 
obliterate self altogether and every thought 
of what is to come to us from the thing we 
do. The faintest trace of a mercenary spirit 
in any service we may be rendering to 
another, leaves a blot upon the deed and 
spoils its beauty. The true reward of kind- 
ness or self-denial is that which comes from 
the act itself, the joy of helping another, of 
relieving distress, of making the heart a 
little braver and stronger for the toil or 
struggle which we cannot make easier. 
Mrs. Browning puts it well in the familiar 
lines: 

[164] 



J 



Ci^e Cffacement of ^eU 

The sweetest lives are those to duty wed, 

WJiose deeds ^ both great and small ^ 
Are close-knit straiids of an unbroken thread 

Where love ennobles all. 
The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells, 
The Book of Life the shining record tells. 

Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes 
After its own life-working. A child's kiss 
Set on thy singing lips shall make thee glad ; 
A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich ; 
A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong ; 
Thou Shalt be served thyself by every sense 
Of service which thou render est 

Among the many beautiful stories of Queen 
Victoria this was told just after she died. 
While visiting the wounded soldiers who 
had been brought back from South Africa, 
she was greatly distressed by the appear- 
ance of one poor man who had been terribly 
injured. " Is there nothing," said the Queen, 
" that I can do for you ? " The soldier re- 
plied, ** Nothing, your Majesty, unless you 
would thank my nurse for her kindness to 
me." The Queen turned to the nurse and 
[ 165 ] 



Cl^e pLini^ivv of Comfort 

said, with tears in her eyes, " I do thank you 
with all my heart for your kindness to this 
poor wounded son of mine." There was 
something exquisitely beautiful in the sol- 
dier's utter self-f orgetfulness, which led him 
to think not of anything from his Queen for 
himself, but of pleasure and honor to her 
who was serving him so faithfully. 
Are we willing to go about ministering 
blessing to others and then forget what we 
have done ? Are we willing to be as the dew 
which loses itself as it sinks away into the 
bosom of the rose only to be remembered 
in the added sweetness of the flower ? Ai-e 
we willing to do deeds of love, and then 
keep absolutely quiet about what we have 
done? Is there not among us too much of 
the spirit which our Lord so severely con- 
demned — sounding a trumpet before us 
when we are going out to do some deed of 
charity, some act of kindness? We all are 
quite ready to note the blemish in others 
when they talk about their own piet}^ and 
devoutness, or about their good deeds and 
[166] 



Cl^e Cffacement of ^tlt 

their acts of self-denial and helpfulness. We 
say the desire to have people know how 
holy he is and how useful, dims the lustre 
of a man's graces. Moses wist not that his 
face shone, and the truest and divinest god- 
liness is always unaware of its shining. We 
say this when we are speaking of others' 
self-praise, but are we different from them ? 
Do we do our deed of love and straightway 
hide the knowledge of it away in our heart ? 
Henry Drummond puts the lesson well in 
these short sentences : " Put a seal upon 
your lips and forget what you have done. 
After you have been kind, after love has 
stolen forth into the world and done its 
beautiful work, go back into the shade 
again and say nothing about it. Love hides 
even from itself." We could not do better 
than write out these words and place them 
where we must see them every day, and 
then make them the rule of our life, until 
we have indeed learned to seal our lips and 
be silent about ourself and what we have 
done ; to steal forth quietly on errands of 
[167] 



Cl^e j^inimv of Comfort 

love, do our errands, then hurry back into 
the quiet whence we set out, and to hide 
even from ourself the things we have done 
to help others, never thinking* of them 
again. Talking about these gentle and sa- 
cred, ministries is like handling lovely flow- 
ers — it spoils their beauty. 
Tell no one of the kindness you have been 
doing. Do not keep a diary, writing therein 
a minute record of your charities, your 
words and deeds of love. Let them be for- 
gotten on the earth, even by yourself. There 
is a place where they all will be written 
down. That is record enough. 



[168] 



ifiDne ?Dat 



[ 169 ] 



My heart gives thanks for yonder hill^ 

That makes this valley safe and still ; 

That shuts from sight my onward way 

And sets a limit to my day ; 

That keeps my thoughts^ so tired and weak^ 

From seeking what they should not seek. 

On that fair bound across the ivest 

My eyes find pasturage and rest^ 

And of its dewy stillness drink ^ 

As do the stars upon its brink ; 

It shields me from, the days to come^ 

And makes the present hour my home. 

Louisa Bushnell. 



[ no ] 



CHAPTEE THIKTEENTH 




IME is given to us in days. 
It was so at the begin- 
ning. We need not puzzle 
or perplex ourselves try- 
ing to understand just 
what the day was in which 
God wrought in creating the universe. We 
may leave this matter to the scientific men 
and the theologians who are quite willing 
to give us their thoughts or guesses on the 
subject. But it is interesting to know that 
each day had its particular apportionment 
in the stupendous work. At the end of 
the creative periods we read, " There was 
evening and there was morning, one day." 
So it has been ever since. Time is measured 
to us not by years, but by days. Each day 
has its own particular section of duty, some- 
thing that belongs, that is to be done, in 
between sunrise and sunset, that cannot be 
[171 ] 



Cl^e jHtntjStrv of Comfort 

done at all if not done in its own hours. 
'' There was evening and there w^as morn- 
ing, one day, a second day, a third day." 

This breaking up of time into little daily 
IDortions means a great deal more than we 
are wont to think. For one thing, it illus- 
trates the gentleness and goodness of God. 
It would have made life intolerably burden- 
some if a year instead of a da}'- had been the 
unit in the division of time. It would have 
been hard to carry a heavy load, or to en- 
dure a great sorrow, or to keep on at a hard 
duty, for such a long stretch of time. How 
dreary our common task-work would be if 
there were no breaks in it, if we had to hold 
our hands to the plough or our foot on the 
treadle for a whole year ! We never could go 
on with our struggles, our toils, our suffer- 
ing, if night did not mercifully settle down 
at such brief intervals with its darkness, 
bidding us rest and renew our strength. 
We do not understand what a blessing there 
is for us in the shortness of our days. If 
they were even twice as long as they are, 
[ 172 ] 



£Dne J^at 



life would be intolerable. Many a time when 
the sun goes down we feel that we could 
scarcely have gone another step. We should 
have fainted in failure and defeat if the 
summons to rest had not come just when it 
did. 

Night with its darkness seems to be a blot 
on the whiteness of day. It seems to fall 
across our path as an interruption to our 
activity, compelling us to lay down our 
work when we are in the very midst of it, 
leaving it only half-done. It seems to be a 
waster of precious time, eating up half the 
hours. How much more we could accomplish, 
we sometimes say, if the sun did not go 
down, if we could go on without pause ! 
Night throws its heavy veil over the lovely 
things of this world, hiding them from our 
view. Yet its deep shadow is no stain on the 
splendor of the day. It is no thief of time, 
no waster of golden hours, no obscurer of 
beauty. It reveals as much loveliness as it 
hides, for no sooner is the sun set, leaving 
earth's splendor of landscape, garden, and 
[ 173 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

forest swallowed up in gloom, than there 
bursts uiDon our vision the other splendor of 
the sky filled with glorious stars. A noble 
sonnet by Blanco White describes the ex- 
perience of our first parent as he watched 
the sinking of the sun to his setting at the 
close of the first day. 

Did he not trerriblefor this lovely frame— 

This glorious canopy of light and blue f 

Yet, ^neath a curtairi of translucent dew. 

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame^ 

Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came. 

And lo ! creation widened in man's view. 

Who could have thought such darkness lay con- 

cealed 
Within thy beams, O sun I or who could find. 
Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, 
That to such countless orbs thou mad^st us blind ! 

When the privilege of work is interrupted 
by the coming of the night, God has another 
blessing ready for us — the blessing of sleej). 
One may figure out with a fair show of 
mathematical certainty that it is a waste of 

[ m] 



One ^av 



time to spend one-third of each twenty-four 
hours in the unconsciousness and idleness of 
sleep. But these hours which seem to be 
lost, in which we appear to be doing* noth- 
ing, bring us new gifts from God. An old 
version renders the Psalm verse thus, " He 
giveth his beloved in sleep." We lie down 
with our vitality exhausted in the toils, 
tasks, and struggles of the day. We could 
not have gone another hour. Then, while w^e 
sleep, God comes to us in the silence and 
refills the emptied fountains. It is really a 
new creation that takes place in us while 
we sleep, a nightly miracle of renewal and 
restoration. We die, as it were, and are made 
to live again. 

So night, which seems to us a waste of pre- 
cious hours, is a time of God's working in 
us. He draws the veil of darkness that none 
may see him when he visits us in loving 
ministry. He folds us in the unconsciousness 
of sleep that we ourselves may not know^ 
when he comes or how he gives to us the 
marvellous blessings. When the morning 
[ 175] 



Ci^e PLini^v of Comfort 

returns and we awake strong and filled with 
new life, we learn that God has visited us 
though we knew it not. 

Thus we get hints of the graciousness of 
the divine thoughtfulness in giving us time 
in periods of little days which we can easily 
get through with, and not in great years in 
which we would faint and fall by the way. 
It makes it possible for us to go on through 
all the long years and not be overwrought, 
for we never have given to us at any one 
time more than what we can do between the 
morning and the evening. George Klingle 
has put this in striking form : 

God broke our years to hours and days, 
That hour by hour, and day by day, 
Just going on a little loay, 
We might he able all along to keep quite strong, 
Should all the weight of life 
Be laid across our shoulders, and the future rife 
With woe and struggle, meet us face to face 
At just one place, 
We could not go ; 
Our feet would stop ; and so 
[ 176 ] 



€>ne ^av 



God lays a little on us every day ; 
And never y I believe, on all the way 

Will burdens bear so deep. 

Or pathways lie so threatening and so steep, 
But we can go^ if by God's poioer 
We only bear the burden of the hour. 

Not only are the days short, so that we 
can go on to eventide with our work or onr 
burden, but they are sejiarated as by an 
impassable wall, so that there may be no 
overflowing of one day's care or responsi- 
bility into the field of another. Night drops 
down its dark curtain between the days, so 
that we cannot see to-day anything that is 
in to-morrow. Our Lord taught us that we 
sin if we let ourselves try to carry the load 
of any but this one little day. " Be not anx- 
ious for the morrow," he said ; " for the mor- 
row will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto 
the day is the evil thereof." If we allow our- 
selves to borrow anxiety from to-morrow we 
shall find that we have a greater load than 
we can carry. There is just enough for our 
full measure of strength in the duty and the 
[ 177 ] 



Cl^e 0iinimv of Comfort 

responsibility of the one day. If then we add 
to this the burden also of to-morrow, our 
strength will fail. We do great wrong to our- 
selves, therefore, when we go out of to-day 
to get burdens which do not belong to us. 

*' I thank thee, Lord, that thou dost lay 
These near horizons on my way. 
If I could all my journey see, 
There were no charm of mystery, 
No veiled grief, no changes sweet, 
No restful sense of tasks complete. 
I thank thee for the hills, the nighU 
For every harrier to my sight ; 
For every turn that blinds my eyes 
To coming pain or glad surprise ; 
For every hound thou settest nigh. 
To make me look more near, more high ; 
For mysteries too great to know ; 
For everything thou dost not show. 
Upon thy limits rests my heart ; 
Its safe Horizon, Lord, thou art ! " 

The only true way to live, therefore, is one 
day at a time. This means that we should 
give all our strength to the work of the 

[ 178 ] 



€)ne H^ai^ 



present day, that we should finish each day's 
tasks by nightfall, leaving nothing undone 
at setting of the sun that we ought to have 
done that day. Then, when a new morning 
dawns, we should accept its duties, the bit 
of God's will it unrolls for us, and do every- 
thing well that is given us to do. We may be 
assured, too, that there is something for 
each moment, and that if we waste any por- 
tion of our day we shall not make it com- 
plete. We should bring all the energy and 
all the skill of mind, heart, and hand to 
our duty as we take it up, and do nothing 
carelessly or negligently. Then we can lay 
our day back into God's hand at nightfall, 
with confidence, saying, " Father, I have 
finished the work which thou gavest me to 
do to-day." 

Robert Falconer's creed gathers into its 
four articles a very clear summary of our 
Lord's teaching concerning the whole duty 
of man : " First, That a man's business is to 
do the will of God. Second, That God takes 
upon himself the care of the man. Third, 
[ 179 ] 



%l)t ^inimv of Comfort 

Therefore, that a man must never be afraid 
of anything". Fourth, And so be left free to 
love God with all his heart and his neighbor 
as himself." 

So we should never be anxious about either 
yesterday or to-morrow. Yesterday is gone, 
and we can never get it back to change 
anything in it. It is idle, therefore, to waste 
a moment of time or a particle of strength 
fretting over it. To-morrow is not yet ours, 
and we should not touch its life until it be- 
comes our to-day. God means us to put our 
undivided energy into the doing of the pres- 
ent day's work. If we do this, we shall have 
quite enough to keep our heart and our 
hands full from the rising of the sun to the 
going down of the same. 
In this way, too, doing faithfully the work 
of this day, we shall best prepare for to- 
morrow. One day's duty slighted or neg- 
lected prepares confusion or overburdening 
for the next. The days are all woven to- 
gether in God's plan, each one following the 
one before, and fitting into the one coming 
[ 180 ] 



€)ne J^av 



after it. Each takes up the work which the 
day before brought to its feet, and carries it 
forward to deliver it to the one which waits. 
A marred or empty day anywhere spoils the 
web, losing its thread. 

** Not merely what we are, 
But what we were and what we are to be. 
Make up our life — the far days each a star. 
The near days nebulce. 



** JBut each day is a link 
Of days that pass, and never pass away ; 
For memory and hope — to live, to think,'''' 

If we learn well this lesson of living just 
one day at a time, without anxiety for either 
yesterday or to-morrow, we shall have found 
one of the greatest secrets of Christian peace. 
That is the way God teaches us to live. That 
is the lesson both of the Bible and of nature. 
If we learn it it will cure us of all anxiety, 
it will save us from all feverish haste, it 
will enable us to live sweetly in any experi- 
ence. 

[ 181 ] 



%^t piini^ttv of Comfort 

** 07ie day at a time! ThaVs all it can he : 
No faster than that is the hardest fate; 
And days have their limits, however we 
Begin them too early and stretch them late. 

* * One day at a time ! A burden too great 
To he home for two can he home for one; 
Who knows what will enter to-morrow's gatef 
While yet we are speaking all may he done, 

** One day at a time— hut a single day, 

Whatever it's load, whatever its length ; 
And there^s a hit of precious Scripture to say 
That according to each shall he our strength,'' 



[ 18:2 ] 



Ci^e CuUute of tl^e Spirit 



[183] 



For myself alone I dovM ; 
All is welly I know without ; \ 
I alone the beauty mar^ 
I alone the music jar. 
Yet, with hands by evil stained^ 
And an ear by discord pained,, 
I am groping for the keys 
Of the heavenly hai'monies. 

Whittier. 



[ 1S4 ] 



CHAPTEE FOUETEENTH 

Cl^e Culture of ti^e Spirit 




N the true life, beauty is 
as important as strength. 
Strength at its best is al- 
ways beautiful, but some- 
times loveliness is sacri- 
ficed to vigor. In these 
days we hear much about the strenuous life, 
but the phrase has in it a suggestion of 
abundant vitality, of an unwearied energy, 
that may lack the enrichment and refine- 
ment which are the ripe fruit of true self- 
culture. At least, the emphasis is put upon 
the strenuousness, as if that were the domi- 
nant quality of the life. 

On every hand, and enforced by the holiest 
sanctions, we are urged to make the most of 
our life and our opportunities. Again and 
again we hear in the Bible the ringing ex- 
hortation, '' Be strong." More than one of our 
Lord's parables teaches our responsibility 
[ 185 ] 



Cl^e pUni^tvv of Comfort 

for the development of every power of our 
being to its fullest possibilities, and the us- 
ing of every particle of energy in our nat- 
ure in worthy service. One who does not do 
one's best falls under a ban. St. Paul, him- 
self a magnificent type of the utmost stren- 
uousness in living, calls for the most vigor- 
ous Christian life in the followers of the 
Master. He exhorts a young man to stir up 
the gift that is in him, probably seeing 
plainly that his friend was not doing his 
best, making the most of his life. He uses 
the figure of the runner in the race, bending 
every energy to reach the goal and win the 
prize, to incite every Christian to the most 
eager stretching toward the highest possibil- 
ities in spiritual attainment. He employs the 
illustration of the soldier as the type of true 
manhood, and bids his friends quit them- 
selves like men, and to be good soldiers of 
Jesus Christ. If we would realize the script- 
ural thought of the worthiest life, we must 
call out all the latent power that is in us and 
develop it to its highest degree of vitality. 
[ 186 ] 



Cl^e Culture of ti^e ^pitit 

Tlie lesson is strongly emphasized in the 
spirit of the days in which we are living-. 
Every man is now called to do his best. 
No patience is exercised toward one who 
takes life easily. The man who works lei- 
surely is left behind in the race. Literature 
is full of homilies on '' success " and how to 
attain it. The men who are held up as exam- 
ples to youth are those who began with 
nothing and by their own energy have risen 
to wealth or power. Strenuousness is every- 
where glorified. 

But not so universally nor so urgently is 
the duty of self-culture taught. Yet the les- 
son is equally important. There are many 
people who are giants in strength, but are 
lacking in the qualities of refinement which 
belong to the truest character. Strength is 
sometimes rude. Too often it is ungentle 
and thoughtless. It is aggressive and resist- 
less, but stops not to look what fair flowers 
it is trampling under its feet. 
It is well that we pause, therefore, in the 
pressure under which we are striving, to 
[ 187] 



Cl^e pUni^v of Comfort 

give thought to self-culture. The beginning 
of it lies in self-mastery. There are many 
men who have prodigious strength, and yet 
never have achieved self-control. We are 
truly strong, not merely when we have 
great forces of energy, but when we can 
command these forces at will. *' He that rul- 
eth his own spirit is greater than he that 
taketh a city." There is much of bad temper 
even among Christian people. Many are 
quick to speak, flying into a iDassion at the 
slightest provocation. They are sensitive 
even to the point of touchiness. They have 
capacity for strenuous life, but they are 
weak, driven of every wdnd and tossed, be- 
cause their bark is without a helm. Un- 
der momentary impulses they do rash and 
foolish things which grieve their friends 
and do irreparable harm to their own life. 
Eew faults mar the beauty and the influence 
of a life more than the habit of ill-temper. 
One writes : " Losing the temper takes all 
the sweet, p;:re feeling out of life. You may 
get up in the morning with a clean heart, 

[ iss ] 



Cl^e Culture of ti^e Spirit 

full of soug-, and start out as happy as a 
bird ; and the moment you are crossed and 
you give way to your temper, the clean feel- 
ing" vanishes and a load as heavy as lead is 
rolled upon your heart, and you go through 
the rest of the day feeling like a culprit, 
unless you promptly confess your fault and 
seek forgiveness of God and man." 
We all admire a self-controlled person, one 
who is not irritated by irritating experi- 
ences, who is not disturbed in his equanim- 
ity by confusing or annoying circumstances, 
who is not vexed nor fretted by life's trials. 
This power of self-control is a higher mark 
of royalty than crown or sceptre. Self -cult- 
ure includes self-mastery. It holds the reins 
of the life and restrains every rude impulse, 
every wayward desire. It sits on the throne, 
and every feeling, every passion, every en- 
ergy, every emotion, is ruled by it. 
The thought of culture always implies also 
refinement, grace of spirit, beauty of soul. 
That is, it is gentle as well as strong. It is 
more than knowledge, for one may know all 
[ 189 ] 



Ci^e ^inimv ot Comfort 

the world's literature and yet lack tliis cult- 
ure. In the ordinary sense, it is the final re- 
sult of true education and study. One may 
be very learned, and yet lack the refinement 
of spirit which the thought of culture 
suggests. Self-culture is defined as what 
a man does upon himself : mending his de- 
fects, correcting his mistakes, chastening 
his faults, tempering his passions. 
Always, love must be the ruling element in 
Christian culture. Fine manners may be the 
result of the study of the rules of etiquette, 
but no manners are really beautiful which 
are not the fruit of love in the heart. Gen- 
tleness belongs to culture, and gentleness is 
love in exercise. The word " gentleman " as 
a designation of one who has reached the 
finest things in manliness is very sugges- 
tive. No man, however masterly his strength, 
however wide his knowledge, however high 
his rank, however splendid his achieve- 
ments, is manly in the fullest sense if he be 
not gentle — a gentleman. 
In a summary of the things which make up 
[ 190 ] 



Ci^e Culture of t\)t Spirit 

a worthy Christian character, St. Paul puts 
first whatsoever things are true, honorable, 
just, and pure, and then, whatsoever things 
are lovely and of good report. The sterner 
qualities alone do not make the character 
complete while loveliness is lacking. The 
word " grace " which is used to describe the 
divine favor and is applied to all spiritual 
work wrought in a life, means primarily that 
which is pleasing and agreeable, beauty of 
form, manner, or movement. As applied to 
the disposition, it means sweetness, amia- 
bility, courtesy. To grow in grace is not 
only to become more devout, obedient, and 
holy, but also to grow more loving — more 
gentle, kindly, thoughtful, patient, unself- 
ish. 

It is evident, therefore, that we should pay 
heed to the culture of our spirit, as well as 
to the development of our energies. Success 
which takes account only of one's worldly 
life and its affairs, and does not also consid- 
er one's attainments in character, in heart 
qualities, in the spiritual elements of one's 
[ 191 ] 



Cl^e pLini^tvv of Comfort 

being, will not stand the test of life's most 
serious ordeals. It is possible to be growing 
in the elements which make for power 
among men and increasing in activities 
which do good in a community, and yet not 
to be advancing in grace and beauty of life. 
Heart culture is essential. It is not in what 
we have or what we do, but in what we are, 
that the true measure of our character must 
be taken. We are growing only when our 
mind is becoming more open to the truth, 
when our heart is becoming more gentle, 
when the peace of God is possessing us 
more and more fully, and when we are giv- 
ing our life more and more unreservedly 
and sweetly to the service of others in 
Christ's name. 

It need not be said that all spiritual work in 
us is wrought by the divine Spirit. Yet we 
are in danger of missing the real meaning 
of this truth by putting God far from us 
instead of understanding that he is with 
us continually, closer than closest human 
friend. We never can by any mere self -disci- 
[192] 



Cl^c Culture of tl^e Spirit 

pline achieve in ourself the beauty we 
yearn for, nor attain the gentleness, the 
peace, the grace, which belong to true spir- 
itual culture ; but God is ready to work in 
us and with us if we will admit him to our 
life, and then our striving to grow into love- 
liness will not be in vain. 
No influence works upon life so deeply, so 
thoroughly, with such power for the cleans- 
ing and enriching of the nature, as personal 
friendship with Christ. If we live with him 
in close daily companionship, walking with 
him, talking with him, dwelling in the very 
atmosphere of his presence, continually, our 
rudeness will be imperceptibly transformed 
into spiritual refinement and our earthliness 
into heavenliness. One tells of buying a 
common clay jar for a few cents, and then 
filling it with some rare and costly perfume. 
At length the jar became saturated in all its 
substance with the rich fragrance. So it is 
with the commonest life, when it is filled 
with Christ. The sweetness of his love and 
the holiness of his spirit permeate it, until 
[193] 



Ci^e piini^tvv of Comfort 

disposition, thought, feeling, and affection 
become like Christ indeed, and the life is 
the partaker of the divine nature. 



[194] 



Ci^e ^ect;et of ^etljt'ng 



[ 195 J 



" Rouse to some work of high and holy love^ 

And thou an angel's happiness shalt know^ 

Shalt iless the earth ; while in the world above^ 

The good begun by thee shall onward flow 

In many a branching stream, and wider grow ; 

The seed that m these few and fleeting hours 

Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow^ 

Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine floivers^ 

And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's imperial bowers'* 



[ 196] 



CHAPTER FIFTEENTH 

Cl^e Secret of ^erljmg 




EFORE we can do people 
good we must love them. 
There is no other secret 
of real helpfulness. The 
weakness of many schemes 
for the relief of distress 
and the amelioration of misery is that they 
are only systems, working in mechanical 
lines, but without a heart of love to inspire 
them. A paid agent may dispense charity 
very justly and generously, and what he 
gives may serve its purpose well enough — 
fuel for the fire in winter, bread for hunger, 
and clothes to cover the shivering poor. 
But how much would be added to the value 
of these gifts if love dispensed them, if a 
real heart-beat of human symx^athy throbbed 
and thrilled in each bit of helpfulness. 
There are deeper wants than those of the 
body. There is a higher help than that 
[ 197] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

which satisfies only physical needs. When 
with the gift of bread, love comes to the 
door, when it is a brother's hand that brings 
the welcome loaf, two hungers are fed, the 
hunger of the body and the hunger of the 
heart. 

But not in charity only is it the element of 
love that imparts the best blessing, multi- 
plying many times the value of the material 
gifts disbursed. In all lines of life it is love 
that is the true secret of power. We know 
the difference in the serving that is merely 
professional, however skilful it may be, and 
the serving that love inspires. It is interest- 
ing to remember that the one question which 
the Master asked his disciple, whom he was 
about to restore to his lost place as an 
apostle, was, '' Lovest thou me ? '' Not until 
Peter had answered this question affirma- 
tively could the care of souls be put into his 
hands. The essential qualification, therefore, 
for being a pastor, a teacher, or a spiritual 
helper of other lives, is love. It is, first of 
all, love for Christ. One who does not love 
[ 198 ] 



€:i)e Secret of getting 

him more than all other things and all other 
beings is not truly his disciple, and cer- 
tainly is not fitted for shepherd work among 
Christ's sheep and lambs. But if there be 
true love for Christ there will also be love 
for our brothers. No one is fit to do Christ's 
work for men who does not love men. 
Love is the essential thing in preparing one 
for being a helper of others. It is not enough 
for the preacher to declare to all men that 
God loves them — the preacher must love 
them too if he would make them believe in 
the divine love for them. The true evangel 
is the love of God interpreted in a human 
life. No other will win men's confidence and 
faith. We must show the tenderness of God 
in our tenderness. We must reveal the com- 
passion of God in our compassion. God so 
loved that he gave— we must so love as to 
give. 

The only efficient preaching of the cross is 
when the cross is in the preacher's life. The 
man must love men, and must love them 
enough to give himself for them, otherwise 
[ 199 ] 



%^z piinimv of Comfort 

his preaching will have but little power. 
It was this that gave Jesus Christ such in- 
fluence over men and drew the people to 
him in such throngs. He told them of the 
love of God, but they also saw that love, and 
realized its compassion in his own life. He 
loved, too. He wrought miracles, and did 
many gracious things ; but that which made 
all his ministry so welcome and so full of 
helpfulness was that he loved the people he 
helped or comforted. That is the meaning of 
the Incarnation — it was God interpreted in 
a human life, and, since God is love, it was 
love that was thus revealed and interpreted. 
Just in the measure, therefore, that we love 
others, are we ready to help them in any 
true way. Nothing but love will do men 
good. Power has its ways of helping. Law 
may protect. Money will buy bread and 
build homes. But for the helxifulness which 
means the most in human lives, nothing but 
love prepares us. Even the most lavish and 
the most opportune gifts, if love be not in 
them, lack that which chiefly gives them 
[ 200 ] 



Ci^e Secret of ^tttin^ 

their value. It is not the man whose service 
of others costs the most in money value who 
is the greatest benefactor, but the man who 
gives the most of human compassion, the 
most of himself, with his gifts. 

** The man most man, with tenderest human 
hands. 
Works best for man, — as Ood in Nazareth.'*^ 

People sneered at St. Theresa when once 
she set out with only three half-pence to 
found a hospital. What would three half- 
pence do toward such a work ? But they for- 
got that St. Theresa had first given herself. 
He who puts his heart, his life, into his ser- 
vice, has given that which will multiply his 
gifts a thousand times. 

It is worth our while to think of love's true 
attitude to others. The spirit of serving is 
different altogether from the spirit in which 
men usually think of others. The world's at- 
titude is that of self-interest. Men want to be 
served, not to serve. They look at other men, 
not with the desire to be helpful to them, to 
[201 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

do them good, to give them pleasure, but 
rather with the wish to be served in some 
way by them, to have their own personal in- 
terests advanced through their association 
with them. Even friendship too often has 
this selfish basis — the gain there will be in it. 
But the love which Christ came to teach us 
looks at others in an altogether different 
way. Instead of asking how they can be 
made profitable to us, it teaches us to ask 
in what way we may be helpful to them. 
Jesus put it in a sentence when he said of 
himself, *'The Son of man came not to be 
ministered unto, but to minister." A study 
of his life in this regard will make his mean- 
ing plain. He never demanded attention. 
Conscious of his divine glory, he never ex- 
acted reverence. He used all his authority 
and power, not to humble men beneath him, 
nor to compel them to help him, but in serv- 
ing them and doing them good. The pict- 
ure of Jesus with the basin and the towel 
is one of the truest representations of his 
whole life. He lived to serve. 
[ 202 ] 



Cl^e Secret of fettling 

On one occasion Jesus taught his disciples 
the lesson with special clearness, setting in 
contrast the world's way and his own : " Ye 
know that they which are accounted to rule 
over the Gentiles exercise lordship over 
them ; and their great ones exercise authority 
upon them. But so shall it not be among 
you : but whosoever will be great among 
you, shall be your minister ; and whosoever 
of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant 
of all." Thus he taught that the noblest, the 
divinest, life is that which seeks to serve. 
He is greatest who ministers. 
This does not mean that the servant in a 
house is greater than his master, or his work 
more pleasing to God — the master may serve 
more truly than the servant. It is not by the 
position, but by the spirit, that the rank is 
determined. The law of love requires us to 
look upon everyone with a desire for his 
good and with a readiness to give him help, 
to do him service. As St. Paul puts it, we 
are debtor to every man, owing to each a 
debt of love and service. If this mind that 
[ 203 ] 



Cl^e piini^tvv of Comfort 

was in Christ Jesus be in us, it will inspire 
in our heart kindly thought of everyone. 
We will think not so much of having friends 
as of being a friend, of receiving, as of giv- 
ing, of being helped, as of helping. We will 
not press our service officiously on anyone 
— this is an error always to be avoided. We 
will not overhelp — nothing could be more 
unwise or unkind. Nor will this spirit make 
us obsequious or patronizing in our rela- 
tions to others. On the other hand, nothing 
is more manly than the love which our Lord 
enjoined upon his followers as the very 
badge of discipleship, and whose portrait 
St. Paul painted so inimitably. 
It is when we have this spirit of service that 
we are prepared to be truly helpful to 
others. Then we will look upon everyone 
we meet as our brother. Even the most de- 
based will appear to us as still having in 
him possibilities of something noble and 
beautiful. 

*^ The hungry beggar hoy . . . 
Contains, himself, both flowers and firmaments y 
[ 204 ] 



%\)t Secret of ^tt^im 

And stirging seas and aspectable stars, 
And all that we would push him out of sight 
In order to see nearer. Let us pray 
God's grace to keep Ood's image in repute.'" 

When we have faith to see glints and 
gleams of God's image in every man, what- 
ever his present character or worth, we shall 
find abundant inspiration for service. It was 
this that drew Jesus to his wondrous minis- 
try among the lost — he saw the possible 
glory in them and knew they could be saved 
to eternal blessedness. The divinest work in 
the world is that which finds the stars in the 
darkened life, and helps the life to find itself. 
But in both low and high there is need al- 
ways for love's serving. We are debtors to 
everyone — to every man we owe love's debt ; 
and if we are truly following our Master we 
must love all, and be ready ever to serve all 
in love's best way. 

An interesting story is told of a good woman 
who opened a home for children for whom 
no other one seemed to care. Among those 
received into her home was a boy of three 
[ 205 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

years, whose condition was pitiable indeed. 
His skin was blotched and his disposition 
was fretful and unhappy. Try as she would 
the woman could not love him. Something 
in him repelled her. She was outw^ardly 
kind to him, but it was always an effort to 
show him any tenderness. 
One day she sat on the veranda of her house 
with this boy on her knee. She dropped 
asleep and dreamed that she saw herself in 
the child's place, the Master bending over 
her. She heard him say, " If I can bear with 
you, who are so full of fault and sin, can you 
not, for my sake, love this poor, innocent 
child, who is suffering, not for his own sin, 
but through the sin of his parents ? " 
The woman awoke with a sudden start and 
looked into the face of the boy. Penitent 
because of her past unkind feeling, and with 
a new compassion for him in her heart, she 
bent down and kissed him as tenderly as 
ever she had kissed babe of her own. The 
boy gave her a smile so sweet that she had 
never seen one like it before. From that 
[ 306 ] 



I 



Cl^e Secret of ^crbing 

moment a chang'e came over him. The new 
affection in the woman's heart transformed 
his peevish, fretful disposition into gentle- 
ness. She loved him now, and her serving 
was glad-hearted and Christ-like, no more 
perfunctory. 

There is no other secret of the best and 
truest serving. We must love those we would 
help. Service without love counts for noth- 
ing. We can love even the unloveliest when 
we learn to see in them the possibilities of 
divine beauty. But only the love of Christ 
in us will prepare us for such serving. 



[ 207 ] 



C^e !^al)it of f^appineiSjit 



[ 209 ] 



If I have faltered more or less 
In my great task of happiness ; 
If I have moved among my race 
And shown no glorious morning fa^e ; 
If beams from happy human eyes 
Have moved me not / if morning shies ^ 
Books^ and my food, and summer rain 
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain — 
Lord^ thy most pointed pleasure take^ 
And stab my spirit broad awake. 

Robert Louis Stevenson, 



I 



[ 210 ] 



CHAPTER SIXTEENTH 

C^e i^abtt of f appine^js 




UK habits make us. Like 
wheels running on the 
road, they wear the tracks 
or ruts in which our life 
moves. Our character is 
the result of our habits. 
We do the same thing over and over a 
thousand times, and by and by it is part of 
ourself. 

* * Sow a thought and reap an act ; 
Sow an act and reap a habit; 
Sow a habit and reap a character,^* 

For example, one is impatient to-day in 
some matter. To-morrow there is another 
trial and the impatience is repeated. Thus, 
on and on, from day to day, with the same 
result. It begins to be easier to give way 
to the temptation than to resist it. Again 
and again the stress is felt and yielded to, 
[ 211 ] 



Ci^e jEtnt^trt of Comfort 

and at length we begin to say of the person 
that he has grown very impatient. That is, 
he has given way so often to his feelings 
that impatience has become a habit. If he 
had resisted the first temptation, restrain- 
ing himself and keeping himself quiet and 
sweet in the trial, and then the second, 
the third, the fourth, the tenth time, had 
done the same, and had continued to be 
patient thereafter, whatever the pressure 
of suffering or irritation, we would have 
said that he was a patient man. That is, he 
would have had formed in him at last the 
fixed habit of patience. As we say again, it 
would have become "second nature" with 
him to hold his imperious feelings in check, 
however he might have been tried. Patience 
would then have become part of his char- 
acter. 

In like manner all the qualities which 
make up the disposition are the result of 
habit. The habit of truthfulness, never 
deviating in the smallest way from what is 
absolutely true, yields at length truth in the 
I 212 ] 



Cl^e l^abit of f$avpint^^ 

character. The habit of honesty, insisted 
upon in all dealings and transactions, fash- 
ions the feature of honesty in the life and 
fixes it there with rock-like firmness. 
It is proper, therefore, and no misuse of 
words, to speak of the habit of happiness. 
No doubt there is a difference in the origi- 
nal dispositions of people in the quality 
of cheerfulness or gloom that naturally be- 
longs to them. Some persons are born with 
a sunny spirit, others with an inclination to 
sadness. The diflference shows itself even 
in infancy and early childhood. No doubt, 
too, there is a difference in the influences 
which affect dispositions in the first months 
and years of life. Some mothers make an 
atmosphere of joy for their children to grow 
up in, while others fill their home with 
complaining, fretfulness, and discontent. 
Young lives cannot but take something of 
the tone of the home atmosphere into the 
disposition with which they pass out of 
childhood. 

Yet, in spite of all that heredity and early 
[ 213 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

education and influence do, each one is re- 
sponsible for the making of his own char- 
acter. The most deep - seated tendency to 
sadness can be overcome and replaced by- 
happy cheerfulness. The gospel of Christ 
comes to us and tells us that we must be 
born again, born anew, born from above, 
born of God, our very nature recreated. 
Then divine grace assures us that it is not 
impossible even for the most unholy life to 
be transformed into holiness. The being 
that is saturated with sin can be made 
whiter than snow. The wolf can be 
changed into lamb-like gentleness. The 
fiercest disposition can be trained to meek- 
ness. There is no nature, therefore, how- 
ever unhappy it may be because of its 
original quality or its early training, which 
cannot, through God's help, learn the les- 
son of happiness. 

The way to do this is to begin at once to 
restrain the tendency to gloomy feeling and 
to master it. We should check the first 
shadow of inclination to discouragement. 
[ 214 ] 



We should choke back the word of discon- 
tent or complaining that is trembling on 
our tongue, and speak instead a word of 
cheer. We should set ourself the task of 
keeping sweet and sunny. 

It will make this easier for us if we think 
of our task as being only for one day at a 
time. It should not be impossible for us 
even if we have things disheartening or 
painful to endure to keep happy one day. 
Anybody should be able to sing songs of 
gladness through the hours of a single 
short day. At the time of evening prayer 
we should confess our failures, and the next 
morning begin the keeping of another day, 
bright and joyous, unstained by gloom, re- 
solved to make our life more victorious than 
the day before. 

At first the effort may seem utterly to fail, 
but if the lesson is kept clearly before our 
eyes, and we are persistent in our determi- 
nation to master it, it will not be long until 
the result will begin to show itself. It 
takes courage and perseverance, but the 
[ 215 ] 



Ci^e ^inimv of Comfort 

task is not an impossible one. It is like 
learning to play on the piano, or like train- 
ing the voice for singing. It takes years 
and years to become proficient in either of 
these arts. It may take a lifetime to learn 
the lesson of joy, but it can be learned. 
Men with the most pronounced and ob- 
durate gloominess of disposition have, 
through the years, become men of abound- 
ing cheerfulness. We have but to continue 
in the practice of the lesson until repeti- 
tion has grown into a fixed habit, and habit 
has carved out happiness as a permanent 
feature of our character, part of our own 
life. 

The wretched discontent which makes 
some people so miserable themselves and 
such destroyers of happiness in others is 
only the natural result of the habit of dis- 
content yielded to and indulged through 
years. Anyone who is conscious of such an 
unlovely, un-Christlike disposition, should 
be so ashamed of it that he will set about 
at once conquering it and transforming his 
[216] 



C]^e ^aUt of J^appinejsjsi 

gloomy spirit into one of happiness and 
joyousness. 

Let no one think of happiness as nothing 
more than a desirable quality, a mere orna- 
mental grace, which is winsome, but is not 
an essential element in a Christian life, 
something which one may have or may not 
have, as it chances. Happiness is a duty, 
quite as much a duty as truthfulness, hon- 
esty, or good temper. There are many 
Scripture words which exhort us to rejoice, 
Jesus was a rejoicing man. Although a 
'* man of sorrows," the deep undertone of 
his life, never once failing, was gladness. 
Joy is set down as one of the fruits of the 
Spirit, a fruit which should be found on 
every branch of the great Vine. St. Paul 
exhorted his friends to rejoice in the Lord. 
There are almost countless incitements to 
gladness. We are to live a songful life. 
There are in the Scriptures many more 
calls to praise than to prayer. 
But how are we to get this habit of hap- 
piness into our life? The answer is very 
[217] 



C]^e pUni^i^ of Comfort 

simple — just as we get any other habit 
wrought into our life. There are some 
people to whom the lesson does not seem 
hard, for they are naturally cheerful. 
There are others who seem to be predis- 
posed to unhappiness and who find it diffi- 
cult to train themselves into joyful mood. 
But there is no Christian who cannot learn 
the lesson. The very purpose of divine 
grace is to make us over again, to give us 
a new heart. A man who has formed the 
' habit of untruthfulness and then becomes a 
Christian may not say that he never can 
learn now to be truthful — that untruthful- 
ness is fixed too obdurately in his being. 
No evil can be so stained into the soul's 
texture that grace cannot wash it white. 
The love of Christ in one makes him a new 
man, and whatsoever the old is, it must give 
way. So, though we have allowed ourself 
to drift into a habit of gloom and sadness, 
there is no reason why we should not get 
our heart attuned to a different key and 
learn to sing new songs. This is our duty, 
[ 218 ] 



Ci^e i^abit of i^appinejijS 

and whatever is our duty we can do by the 
help of Christ. 

The secret of Christian joy is the peace of 
Christ in the heart. Then one is not de- 
pendent on circumstances or conditions. 
St. Paul said he had learned in whatsoever 
state he was, therein to be content. That is, 
he had formed the habit of happiness and 
had mastered the lesson so well, that in no 
state or condition, whatever its discomforts 
were, was he discontented. We know well 
that his circumstances were not always con- 
genial or easy. But he sang songs in his 
prison with just as cheerful a heart and 
voice as when he was enjoying the hospi- 
tality of some loving friend. His mood was 
always one of cheer, not only when things 
went well, but when things went adversely. 
He was just as songful on his hard days as 
on his comfortable days. 

** It is easy enough to he pleasant 
WJien life flows by like a song ; 
But the man worth while is the one who will 
smile 

[219] 



Ci^e jEtntsittt of Comfort 

When everything goes wrong. 

For the test of the heart is trouble. 

And it always comes with years ; 

And the smile that is worth the praises of earth 

Is the smile that shines through tears, ' * 

Then St. Paul gives ns the secret of his 
abiding" gladness in the word he uses — 
"content." It means self-suflSeed. He was 
self -sufficed — that is, he carried in his own 
heart the springs of his own happiness. 
When he found himself in any place he was 
not dependent on the resources of the place 
for his comfort. The circumstances might 
be most uncongenial. There might be 
hardship, suflfering, want ; but in himself he 
had the peace of Christ and this sustained 
him so that he was content. 
There is no other unfailing secret of hap- 
piness. Too many people are dependent 
upon external conditions — the house they 
live in, the people they are with, their food, 
their companions, the weather, their state of 
health, the comforts or discomforts of their 
circumstances. But if we carry within us 
[ 220 J 



Ci^e l^abit of l^appine^js 

such resources that things without us can- 
not make us unhappy, however uncongenial 
they may be, then we have learned St. 
Paul's secret of contentment, which is the 
Christian's true secret of a happy life. 
George Herbert puts this well in his ** Hap- 
py Life": 

How happy is he horn and taught 
That serveth not another's will ; 

Whose armor is his honest thought^ 
And simple truth his utmost skill I 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 

Not tied unto the world with care 
Or public fame or private breath ; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise. 

Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise^ 

Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hath his life from immors freed ; 

Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed 

Nor ruin make accusers great. 
[221 ] 



Cl^e 0iinimv of Comfort 

I%is man is freed from servile hands, 
Or hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 

Lord of himself though not of lands. 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 



[ 222 ] 



Cl^infefng ^obetlt 



[ 223 ] 



One small life in God's great plan^ 

How futile it seems as the ages roily 
Do what it may or strive how it can 

To alter the sweep of the infinite whole ! 
A single stitch in an endless wehj 
A drop in the ocean* s flow and elb ! 
But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost^ 
Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed ; 
And each life that fails of its true intent 
Mars the perfect plan that the Master meant. 

Susan Coolidge. 



[ 224 ] 



CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH 




HE smallest life is of infi- 
nite importance. It sends 
streams of influence and 
of destiny into eternity. 
If it fails of its mission 
it leaves a blank in God's 
universe. Therefore we should think rever- 
ently of our life. Yet we should also think 
humbly of it, for in God's sight the greatest 
are very small. It is well that we seek to 
have true thoughts of ourself and of our 
place and importance in the world. One 
may have too exalted an opinion of one's 
self — there is a self-conceit that exaggerates 
one's value to society, one's work, and one's 
influence among men. Then there is also 
such a thing as having too low an opinion 
of one's self and of one's abilities, by reason 
of which one shrinks from serious duty and 
fails to meet life's full responsibility. 
[ 225 ] 



Clje piini^tti^ of Comfott 

In one of his letters St. Paul exhorts the 
followers of Christ not to think of them- 
selves more highly than they ought to 
think, but so to think as to think soberly, 
according as God has dealt to each man a 
measure of faith. Then follows an illustra- 
tion of the exhortation, drawn from the 
body and its members. There are many 
members in the body, and these members 
do not all have the same office or function. 
Not all followers of Christ have the same 
gifts or are fitted to perform the same 
duty. Some have the gift of prophesying, 
others of ministering, others of exhorta- 
tion. 

The counsel is that no man think more 
highly of himself than he ought to think, 
but so to think as to think soberly. Thinking 
soberly is recognizing the truth, first of all, 
that whatever our particular gift may be, it 
is what God has given us. Our gifts differ, 
but it is according to the grace bestowed 
upon us. This takes away all ground for 
glorying in our individual ability or power. 
[ 226 ] 



Cl^tnfetng ^obttlv 



If our gift is greater than our neighbor's, 
we may not boast of it nor be vain because 
of it. God saw fit to endow him with certain 
abilities, in order that he might discharge 
the duties that are allotted to him in his 
appointed place. We have a difterent place 
to fill, with different duties, requiring dif- 
ferent abilities, and through the grace of 
God we have received gifts fitting us for 
our particular duties. Therefore we should 
not think too highly of ourself, but rather 
should think humbly and gratefully, giving 
God the praise and honor for whatever gifts 
we have received. 

He does not think soberly who leaves God 
out of his thoughts. It is said of William 
Hunt, the artist, that he never allowed the 
spiritual in his work to be obscured by 
the material or earthly quality. With him 
thoughts, ideas, duties must always come 
before things. Once one of Mr. Hunt's pu- 
pils was engaged in sketching a landscape 
bathed in the glory of the setting sun. In 
the foreground stood a large barn. Mr. 
[ 227 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

Hunt watched the young man quietly for 
a while, and then said to him most impres- 
sively, " If you spend so much time paint- 
ing the shingles on that barn, you'll never 
have time to paint that sunset. You will 
have to choose between the two." 
There are many people who put shingles 
before sunsets in their life and work. They 
see the dusty road on which they are walk- 
ing, but see not the glorious sky that arches 
above them. They toil for earth's perishing 
things, and see not heaven's imperishable 
glory that might be made theirs. They 
spend all their life in striving to get honor, 
wealth, or power, and miss God. They paint 
the shingles into their picture, bringing out 
every minutest detail, but when that is done 
the glory of the sunset has vanished, and 
they have only a picture of some shingles. 
Thinking soberly is getting God and eter- 
nal things first of all into our life. If we fail 
of this, nothing else that we may do will 
be of any avail. Without God, a life full of 
services great and small is only a row of 
[ 228 ] 



Ci^infeing ^obttlv 



ciphers, with no numeral before them to 
give them value. 

Thinking soberly recognizes the truth that 
others also have abilities which God has be- 
stowed upon them. We are not the only 
one to whom God has given brains and a 
heart. And how do we know that our gift is 
really greater or more honorable than our 
neighbor's ? One man may have eloquence, 
and be able to move and thrill hearts. An- 
other is a quiet man, whose voice is not 
heard in the street or in any assembly. But 
he has the gift of intercession. He lives 
near to God, and speaks to God for men. 
While the preacher preaches, this man 
prays. May the man of the eloquent tongue 
glory over his brother who cannot speak 
with impressiveness to men, but who has 
the ear of God and power in heaven, in- 
stead ? Who knows but that by the ministry 
of intercession more things are wrought in 
people's hearts and lives than by the elo- 
quence that wins so much praise among 
men? 

[ 229 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfott 

In one of Miss Procter's poems is a legend 
of a monk who preached with great power, 
pouring forth eloquent words from a glow- 
ing heart, — 

And the flame spread — in every soul that heard, 
Sorrow and love and good resolve awoke. 

A poor lay brother, ignorant and old, in hu- 
mility thanked God that he had heard such 
words. The monk prayed that the glory 
might be God's alone, saying that while his 
hands had sown the seed, it was the divine 
blessing that had made his words bring 
light and love to those who heard them. 
So he thanked God that his strength had 
wrought so mightily that sinful hearts had 
been melted by his pleading — 

So prayed the monk ; when suddenly he heard 

An angel speaking thus : ^' KnoWy oh my son. 
Thy words had all been vain, but hearts were 
stirred, 
And saints were edified, and sinners won, 
By his, the poor lay brother^ s, humble aid. 
Who sat upon the pulpit stairs and prayed.^* 
[ 230 ] 



Cl^tnfeing ^ohnlv 



May it not often be so that the gifts which 
men praise and regard as most honorable 
are not those whose power reaches highest 
into heaven and deepest into men's hearts, 
but the gifts which attract no attention, of 
which no man boasts? Let not the eloquent 
preacher think more highly of himself or of 
his gift than he ought to think, but so to 
think as to think soberly. It may be that 
but for the lowly brother who sits on the 
pulpit stairs and prays, the great preacher's 
words would have no power over men to 
bring them to God. 

Thinking soberly does not forget that the 
greatest gifts are great only in the measure 
in which they are used. The abilities which 
God bestows upon us are not merely for the 
adornment of our life — they are given to us 
in order that they may be used. No one gift 
in itself is really greater than another. The 
humblest member of the body that fulfils 
its function thereby becomes honorable. 
But this gives it no reason to think highly 
of itself, or to depreciate other members 
[ 231 ] 



Cl^e ^inimv of Comfort 

and their functions. The lowliest Christian 
who does well the lowliest work given him 
to do, making the most of his gifts or his 
abilities in the serving of men and for the 
honor of God, is realizing God's thought for 
his life, and is pleasing God just as well as 
he who with his large ability does a work 
far greater in itself. 

Instead, therefore, of thinking highly of 
himself because of the attractiveness of his 
gift or power, each man should accept it as 
something committed to him by God to be 
used. There is no room for contention as to 
which is greater, or for claiming that our 
particular form of doing good is superior to 
our neighbor's. Instead of this, each one 
should consecrate his own particular ability 
to God, and then use it. " Whether . . . min- 
istry, let us give ourselves to our ministry ; 
or he that teacheth, to his teaching ; or he 
that exhorteth, to his exhorting : he that 
giveth, let him do it with liberality." That 
is the way thinking soberly about our own 
life should inspire us to use our gift. In- 
[ 232 ] 



Cl^mfemg ^ohtvlv 



stead of boasting" of our fine abilities and 
thinking" of onrself more highly than wo 
ought to think, we should use our particular 
ability to its very utmost and in its own 
line. Many a person, with most meagre nat- 
ural gifts, makes his life radiant by its ser- 
vice of love, while the man with the brill- 
iant natural powers does nothing, his gifts, 
unused, dying in his brain and heart. It is a 
true word which Milton wrote : 
"I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered 
virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that 
never sallies out and seeks her adversary, 
but slinks out of the race where the immor- 
tal garland is to be run for not without dust 
and heat." 

Thus there are many reasons against think- 
ing of ourself more highly than we ought to 
think, and for thinking soberly. Noble gifts, 
instead of making us vain and self-conceit- 
ed, should inspire in us a sense of responsi- 
bility. We are to use our abilities, whether 
large or small, and then we must account 
for them at the last — not for the abilities as 
[ 233 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

they were when first given to us, mere 
germs and possibilities, but for their devel- 
opment into their full power of usefulness, 
and then for their use in ways of blessing, 
unto the uttermost. If we understand this, 
we cannot but think soberly about our life. 



[ 234 ] 



^tumblfng at ti^e M^aqxttabXt 



[ 235 ] 



" There is no noble height thou canst not climb ; 
All triumphs may he thine in time' s futurity ^ 
If whatsoe'er thy faulty thou dost not faint or halt^ 
But lean upon the staff of God's security, 

" Earth has no claim the soul cannot contest. 
Know thyself part of the supernal source^ 
And naught can stand before thy spirit's force, 
The soul's divine inheritance is best." 



[ 236 ] 



CHAPTEE EIGHTEENTH 

^tumbling at tl^e J^ijsagreeable 




ANY people fail in life be- 
cause they lack courage to 
do or to endure disagree- 
able things. They demand 
a career with only conge- 
nial experiences. They in- 
sist on getting the roses without the thorns. 
They want to reach fine results without the 
toil it costs other men to reach them. They 
wish to stand upon the mountain-peaks, but 
they are unwilling to climb the steep, rug- 
ged paths that lead up to them. They desire 
success in life, but they are not ready to 
work for it. They dream beautiful dreams, 
but they have not the skill or the energy to 
forge their dreams into realities. They would 
like to leave the disagreeable out of every 
phase of their existence. They are impatient 
of a disagreeable environment. They dislike 
disagreeable people and have not the good- 
[ 237 ] 



C]^e piinimv ot Comfort 

nature necessary to get along with them. 
They complain bitterly when they must 
suffer any inconvenience, when the weather 
is uncomfortable, when circumstances are 
unfavorable, when they are sick. They can- 
not bear disappointment, and they chafe and 
fret when things do not turn out as they ex- 
pected. 

But there really is nothing manly or noble 
in such an attitude toward life. It may be 
said, first of all, that it is impossible to find 
a path in this world which has not in it 
something disagreeable. There always are 
thorns as well as roses, and usually they 
grow on the same stalk. There are some 
dark, unpleasant days in the brightest and 
most cheerful summer. It is not likely that 
every one of a hundred neighbors or com- 
panions in work is altogether congenial — al- 
most certainly there will be one disagreeable 
person among them. Then it is not by any 
means certain that even one's most conge- 
nial and best-natured friend will be perfectly 
agreeable every hour of the three hundred 
[ 238 ] 



^tumbling at tl^e ^(jsagreeablt 

and sixty-five days in the year. The sweetest 
people are apt to have their disagreeable 
moods now and then. The most sunny- 
hearted friend will likely have a day of 
cloud now and then. 

It may be said, further, that not only is the 
disagreeable inevitable in life, but it is also 
the school in which much that is best may 
be learned. Nothing really noble and worthy 
is ever attained easily. One may get money 
by inheritance from an ancestor, but one 
cannot get education, culture, refinement, or 
character as an inheritance. These posses- 
sions can become ours only through our own 
struggle, toil, and self-discipline. 
Some people dream of genius as a gift which 
makes work unnecessary. They imagine that 
with this wondrous power they can do the 
finest things without learning to do them. 
They fancy, for example, that genius can sit 
down at a piano the first time it sees the 
instrument, and play exquisitely the noblest 
music ; or put a vision of beauty on the 
canvas without having touched brushes be- 
[ 239 ] 



Cl^e piini^tvv of Comfort 

fore ; or write a story, a poem, or an essay 
which will thrill all hearts, without ever 
having been a student and without literary 
training ; or go into business and build up a 
great fortune without having had any pre- 
liminary business experience. 
But such thoughts of life are only idle 
dreams. The truest definition of genius is 
that it is merely ^' an infinite capacity for 
taking pains." Those who expect results 
without processes can only be bitterly dis- 
appointed in the end. Nothing beautiful or 
worthy in any department of life was ever 
achieved or attained without toil. " Wher- 
ever a great thought is born, there also has 
been Gethsemane." The lovely works of hu- 
man creation which people linger before with 
admiring wonder have all cost a great price. 
Somebody's heart's blood has gone into 
every great picture, into every stanza of 
sweet song, into every paragraph which in- 
spires men. It has been noted that the 
Anglo-Saxon root of the word bless is the 
word for blood. We can bless another in 
[ 240 ] 



^tumbling at ti^e JDijsagreeable 

deep and true ways only by giving of our 
life-blood. Anything that will do real good 
can be wrought only in tears and suffering. 
When Raphael was asked how he produced 
his immortal pictures he replied, " I dream 
dreams and see visions, and then I paint my 
dreams and my visions." 
And not only are these painful processes 
necessary in order to produce results that 
are worth while, but it is in them that we 
grow into whatever is beautiful and noble. 
Work is the only means of growth. Instead 
of being a curse, as some would have us be- 
lieve, work is a means of measureless good. 
Not to work is to keep always an undevel- 
oped hand, or heart, or brain. The things 
which work may achieve are not half so im- 
portant as that which work does in us. 

** Disappointment is not utter failure. 
The striving is a measure of success ; 
Each wise attempt hut makes us stronger grow, 
Till, oft-repeated^ stumhling-hlocks seem less 
And finally prove the stepping-stones to gain 
The end in view, and our fond hopes attain / " 
[241 ] 



Ci^e ^inimv of Comfort 

A genial writer has given us a new beatitude 
— ^* Blessed be drudgery ! '* and in a delight- 
ful essay proves that we owe to what we 
speak of ordinarily as drudgery, the best 
things in our life and character. A child dis- 
likes to be called in the morning and to have 
to be oflf to school at the same hour every 
day, and chafes at rules, bells, lessons, and 
tasks ; but it is in this very drudgery of 
home and school that the child is being 
trained for noble and beautiful life. The 
child that misses such discipline, growing 
up as its own sweet will inclines, may seem 
to be fortunate and may be envied, but it is 
missing that without which all its future 
career will be less beautiful and less strong. 
" Blessed be drudgery ! '' It is in the tire- 
some routine of hours, tasks, and rules that 
we learn to live worthily and that we get 
into our life itself those qualities which 
belong to true manhood. Those who have 
been brought up from childhood to be 
prompt, systematic, to pay any debt on the 
day, always to keep every promise and ap- 
[ 242 ] 



^tumbling at tl^e ^imo^xttablt 

pointment, never to be late, will carry the 
same good habits into their mature life, in 
whatever occupation or calling it ma}' be 
spent, and when these qualities will mean so 
much in success. 

Thus, irksome things play an important 
part in the making of life. We can shirk 
them if we will, but if we do so we throw 
away our opportunity, for there is no other 
way to success. Young people should settle 
it once for all that thej^ will shrink from no 
task, no toil, no self-discipline that faces 
them, knowing that beyond the thing which 
is unpleasant and hard lies some treasure 
that can be reached and possessed in no way 
but by accepting the drudger3\ Nor can we 
get some other one to do our drudgery for 
us, for then the other person, not we, would 
get the reward which belongs to the task- 
work and which cannot be got apart from it. 
We must do our own digging. The rich 
man's son might easily find some other one 
who would be -v^-illing to stud}" for him for a 
money consideration, but no money could 
[243] 



Ci^e jttinijstrt of Comfort 

buy tlie gains of study and put them in 
among his own life-treasures. We can ac- 
quire knowledge, culture, breadth of mind, 
only through our own work. 
It is a misfortune to a young man to be 
born rich, not to have to ask, '* What 
shall I do for a living ? " unless he has in 
him the manly courage to enter life as if he 
were a poor man and to learn to work as if 
he must indeed earn his bread by the sweat 
of his own brow. There is no other way to 
grow into manly character. There is no 
other way to make life worth while. 
We are very foolish, therefore, certainly 
very short-sighted, to quarrel with the disa- 
greeable in our lot, of whatever sort it is. 
The disagreeable is inevitable. We cannot 
find all things just to our own mind, in even 
the most perfect human lot in this world. Nor 
could we afford to miss the things that are 
less pleasant, that are even painful. We 
shrink from life's hard battles, but it is only 
through struggle and victory that we can 
reach the fair heights of honor and win the 
[ 244 ] 



I 



^tumbling at tl^e M^a^vttahlt 

prizes of noble character. We dread sorrow, 
but it is through sorrow's bitterness that 
we find life's deepest, truest joy. We hold 
our life back from sacrifice, but it is only- 
through losing our life that we can ever 
really save it. If we have faith and courage 
to welcome struggle, cost, jDain, and sacri- 
fice, we shall find our feet ever on the path 
to the best things in attainment and achieve- 
ment in this world and the highest glory at 
the last. 

** Then welcome each rebuff 
That turns earth's smoothness rough. 

Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go ! 
Be our joys three parts pain ! 
Strive and hold cheap the strain ; 

Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never 
grudge the throe ! ' ' 



[245 ] 



Ci^e H^utv of Ci^anfejsgtiJtng 



[247] 



'* Lord^ in thy shy ofUue^ 

No stain of cloud appears / 
Gone all my faithless feo^rs^ 
Only thy love seems true. 
Help me to thank ihee^ then^ Ip^'ay, 
Walk in the light and cheerfully obey ! *' 



[ 248 ] 



CHAPTEK NINETEENTH 




HANKSGIVING is one of 

our highest and holiest 
duties. There are in the 
Scriptures more c o m - 
mands and calls to praise 
than to prayer. Yet few 
duties are more frequently neglected than 
this. There are manj^ people who are always 
coming to God with requests, but who do not 
come to him with thanksgiving after their re- 
quests have been granted. Ten lepers once 
cried to Jesus, as he was passing at a distance, 
beseeching him for cleansing. He graciously 
heard them and granted their plea. When 
they had been healed, one of the ten returned 
to thank the Healer, but the other nine came 
not again with any word in recognition of 
the great favor they had received. So it is 
continually — many are blessed and helped, 
but only one here and there shows gratitude. 
[ 249 ] 



Cl^e piini^ttv of Comfort 

Our Lord felt keenly the ingratitude of the 
lepers who returned not. " Where are the 
nine? " was his pained question. God pours 
out his gifts and blessings every day upon 
his children ; and whenever no voice of 
thanksgiving is heard in return, he misses 
it. If one bird in the forest is silent in the 
glad spring days, he misses its song. If 
one human heart fails to utter its praise 
amid life's countless blessings, he is disajD- 
pointed. 

Some people seem to think that if they set 
apart certain definite days for praise, it is 
enough. For example, they will be grateful 
for a whole day once in the year, doing 
nothing but sing, touching every chortl of 
I)raise in their being, thinking that this is 
the way God wants them to show their grat- 
itude. But the annual Thanksgiving Day 
is not intended to gather into itself the 
thanksgiving for a whole year ; rather it is 
intended to give the keynote for all the 
year's life. Life's true concert pitch is 
praise. If we find that we are below the 
[ 250 ] 



Cl^e H^utv of Cl^anfe^gibtng 

right pitch, we should take advantage of 
particular thanksgiving seasons to get 
keyed up. That is the wsij people do with 
their pianos — they have them tuned now 
and then, when the strings get slack and the 
music begins to grow discordant — and it is 
quite as important to keep our life in tune 
as our piano. 

The ideal life is one of gladness. Discon- 
tent and fretfulness are discords in the 
song. "We have no right to live gloomily or 
sadly. Go where we may, we hear the music 
of joy, unless our ears have become tone- 
deaf. The world is full of beauty and full of 
music. Yet it is strange how many people 
seem neither to see the loveliness nor hear 
the music. 

There is a legend of an aged priest whom 
one met painfully toiling up some steep 
mountain slope. He was asked why he, at 
such advanced age, was enduring the fa- 
tigue of the rugged ascent. He explained 
that he had spent his life in the cloister, 
thinking it almost sinful to look upon or 
[ 251 ] 



Cl^e piinimv ot Comfort 

admire the beauties of nature. In a sore ill- 
ness he had come to the very gates of 
death. There an angel met him and said to 
him, " That is a beautiful world you have 
come from." The monk reflected that while 
he had lived many years in this world, he 
had seen but little of it and knew almost 
nothing of its loveliness. Eecovering from 
his illness, he resolved to devote his re- 
maining days to travel, that he might look 
upon as many as possible of the beautiful 
things of this world, which thus far he had 
failed to see- 
It were well if many of us would train our- 
selves to see the glory and the goodness of 
God as revealed in nature. It will be sad to 
leave this world after staying in it three- 
score or fourscore years without having 
seen any of the ten thousand beauties with 
which God has adorned it. *^ Consider the 
lilies/' said Jesus. Every sweet flower has a 
message of joy to him who can read the 
writing. One who loves flowers and birds 
and trees and mountains and rivers and 
[ 252 ] 



I 



Cl^e HButv of Cl^anfejsgiiJing 

seas, and has learned to hear the voices 
which everywhere whisper their secrets to 
him who understands, never can be lonely 
and never can be sad. Emerson had ears to 
hear this mystic music, and wrote 

Let me go where'er I will, 

I hear a sky-horn music still ; 

It is not only in the rose. 

It is not only in the bird, 

But in the darkest, meanest things^ 

There always, always, something sings. 

The power to hear what nature's voices have 
to say is in the heart, not merely in the ear. 
We must have the beauty in our soul before 
we can see beauty anywhere. Hence there 
are many who are really blind to the loveli- 
ness which God has strewn everywhere, 
with most lavish hand, in his works. So we 
must have the music in our heart before we 
can hear the music which sings everywhere 
for him who has ears to hear. If we have 
thanksgiving within us, we will have no 
trouble in finding gladness wherever we go. 
[ 253 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

It is a sad and cheerless heart that makes 
the world dreary to certain people ; if only 
they would let joy enter to dwell within, a 
new world would be created for them. There 
is a legend of a wonderful bell which rings 
in heaven, and whose sweet tones only those 
can hear whose hearts are pure and gentle. 

'* It is said somewhere, at twilight 
A great bell softly swings. 
And a man may listen and hearken 
To the wondrous music that rings. 

^^Ifhe puts from his heart's inner chamber 
All the passion, pain, and strife, 
Heartache and weary longing 
That throb in the pulses of life ; 

^^Ifhe thrusts from his soul all hatred. 
All thoughts of wicked things, 
He can hear in the holy twilight 
How the bell of the angels rings. "*' 

If we allow our heart to cherish unloving- 
ness, bitterness, evil thoughts and feelings, 
we cannot hear the music of love which 
breathes everywhere, pouring out from the 
[ 254 ] 



Cl^e ^uti? of Cl^anfejSfiibing 

heart of God. But if we keep our heart gen- 
tle, patient, lowly, and kind, on our ears wdll 
fall, wherever we go, sweet strains of divine 
music, out of heaven. 

A great man used to say that the habit 
of cheerfulness was worth ten thousand 
pounds a year. This is true not only in a 
financial way — it is true of one's own enjoy- 
ment of life and also of the worth of one's 
life to others. A glad heart gets immeasur- 
ably more out of life than one that is 
gloomy. Every day brings its benedictions. 
If it is raining, rain is a blessing. If trouble 
comes, God draws nearer than before, for 
" as your days, so shall your strength be." 
Then in the trouble benedictions are folded 
up. If there is sorrow, comfort is revealed in 
the sorrow, a bright light in the cloud. If 
the day brings difficulties, hardships, heavy 
burdens, sharp struggles, life's best things 
come in just this kind of experience, and 
not in the easy ways. The thanksgiving 
heart finds treasure and good everywhere. 
Then, a glad life makes a career of gladness 
[ 255 ] 



Cl^e j^inimv of Comfort 

wherever it goes. It leaves an unbroken lane 
of sunbeams behind it. Everybody is better 
as well as happier for meeting, even casual- 
ly, one whose life is full of brightness and 
cheer. 

** Just being happy 

Is a fine thing to do ; 
Looking on the bright side 

Rather than the blue ; 
Sad or sunny musing 
Is largely in the choosing 

And just being happy 
Is brave work and trice. 

** Just being happy 
; Helps other souls along ; 
Their burdens may he heavy ; 

And they are not strong ; 
And your own sky will lighten 
If other skies you brighten 

By just being happy 
With a heart full of song ! " 

We can do nothing better either for ourself 

or for the world in which we live than to 

learn the lesson of praise, of thanksgiving. 

[ 256 ] 



We should begin at once to take singing- 
lessons, learning to sing only joyous songs. 
Of course there are troubles in every life, 
but there are a thousand good things to one 
that is sad. Sometimes we have disappoint- 
ments, but even these are really God's ap- 
pointments, as some day we shall find out. 
People will sometimes be unkind to us, but 
we should go on loving just as before, our 
heart full of unconquerable kindness. No 
matter what comes we should sing and be 
thankful, and should always keep sweet. 
One writes : 

*• Suppose a world of troubles do 
Annoy you day hy day ; 
Suppose that friends considered true 

Your trust in them betray ; 
And rocks may bruise and thorns may tear 

Your worn and weary feet, 
And every day you meet a snare — 
Keep sweet 

** Suppose you have not each desire 
That forms within your mind ; 
[257] 



Ci^e jHtnijstrv of Comfort 

And earth denies you half your hire, 
And heaven seems quite unkind; 

And you have not the best to wear, 
Nor yet the best to eat — 

You seem to have the meanest fare — 
Keep sweet, 

* * A sour heart will make things worse 
And harder still to bear, 
A merry heart destroys the curse 

And makes the heavens fair. 
jSo I advise, whatever your case — 

Whatever you may meet. 
Dwell on the good—forget the base — 
Keep sweet ' ' 



[ 258 ] 



^annm 



[ 259 ] 



*' To nohly thinh the highest thought that I can reach. 
To feel the mighty thrill of kindling aspiration^ 
To hate with ardent soul all hase, ignoble schemes^ 
To match a steadfast will against the tempter'' s aris^ 
To do my daily duty in heroic mood^ 
To take my cross and follow Christ unmvrmuringly^ 
To love my fellow-men as truly as myself 
To feed the hungry mouthy to clothe the naked hack^ 
To visit them that sit in dismal prison-cells^ 
To love my God with all my heart and soul and 

strength— 
Such holy work as this is heaven begun on earth,** 



[260] 



I 



CHAPTEE TWENTIETH 




ANNEES are very impor- 
tant. Some people will 
tell you that if a person 
is genuine in character, 
it makes small difference 
what kind of manners he 
has. But this is not true. A man may have 
the goodness of a saint, but if he is rude, 
awkward, lacking refinement, a large meas-^ 
ure of the value of his goodness is lost. 
Manners are the language in which the life 
interprets itself ; ofttimes much of the 
sweetness and beauty of the heart's gentle 
thoughts and feelings is lost in the faulty 
translation. 

Everywhere in life manners count for a great 
deal. In business, civility is almost as im- 
portant as capital. A man who is rude, dis- 
courteous, and brusque, lacking the graces 
of cordiality and kindliness, may have fine 
[ 261 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

goods in his store, but people will not come 
to buy of him. On the other hand, a man 
with affable manners, who treats his cus- 
tomers with politeness, who is patient, 
thoughtful, ready always to oblige, desirous 
to please, will attract patrons to his place 
and will build up a business. No merchant 
will retain in his employ a salesperson who 
treats customers rudely. 
The same is true in the professions and in 
all occupations and callings. The surly, dis- 
courteous physician will not get patients. If 
you begin to deal with a tradesman who ap- 
pears to be impertinent, cross-tempered, and 
disobliging, you will not continue to go to 
him. The principal of a private school was 
very popular with his boys and did splen- 
did work, for some years. Meanwhile the 
school prospered. Then something hap- 
pened which soured the principal and em- 
bittered his spirit. His manners changed, 
becoming stern, severe, harsh. He would 
give way to fits of violent temper in which 
he lost self-control and used language in the 
[ 262 ] 



presence of his pupils that no gentleman 
should ever use. One j'^ear of this was 
enough to break up the school. 
We all know the impressions that the man- 
ners of people make upon us when we first 
meet them. A beautiful behavior goes a long 
way in winning our favor and confidence, 
and ill-manners offset many excellences of 
character and much true worth. 
In a passage in the Old Testament there is 
an intimation that the manners of the peo- 
ple of Israel very sorely tried the Lord in 
the days of the wilderness wanderings. It is 
said that for about the space of forty years 
he suffered their manners in the wilderness 
— not only bore with them, but suffered 
from them. There is no doubt that their 
manners were very bad. They were always 
murmuring and complaining. They did not 
praise the God who had done so much for 
them. They were ungrateful and rebellious. 
It is given as a mark of the divine patience 
that the Lord suffered or endured their man- 
ners all those years. It is implied, also, that 
[ 263 ] 



Cl^e jHinfjstr^ of Comfort 

he was sorely grieved by all that was so un- 
beautiful and so unworthy in their manners. 
There is a class of ill-manners which is 
much too common, and which many persons 
seem not to think of as in any way ungra- 
cious — the habit of fretting and complain- 
ing about one's condition or circumstances. 
There are some people whose greatest 
pleasure appears to be found in talking 
about their discomforts and miseries, their 
ill-health, their trials. They seem never to 
think there is anything discourteous or un- 
refined in thus inflicting upon their neigh- 
bors the tale of their real or imagined, at 
least exaggerated, woes. Yet the truest 
Christian spirit always avoids the intrud- 
ing of self in any way, especially the un- 
happy or suffering self, into the life of 
others. " By the grace of God I never 
fret," said Wesley. "I am discontented 
with nothing. And to have persons at 
my ear fretting and murmuring at every- 
thing is like tearing the flesh off my 
bones." 

[ 264 ] 



An old writer says, 

** Fret not : His loasteful, for it lets thy work : 
And selfish, for it doth thy neighbor irk : 
And faithless : did not God thy lot prepare f 
But chiefly needless, being healed by prayer, ' ' 

The Bible is the best book of manners ever 
written. All its teachings are toward the 
truest and best culture. It condemns what- 
ever is rude in act, coarse and unlovely in 
disposition, ungentle in word or thought. 
Jesus Christ w^as the most perfect gentle- 
man who ever lived, and all his teachings are 
toward whatsoever things are lovely, what- 
soever things are of good report, pleasing 
to others, well spoken of. Saint Paul, also, is 
an excellent teacher of good manners. If we 
w^ould learn to live out the teachings of the 
thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, for 
example, we should need no other instruc- 
tion on how to behave. No rules of conduct 
ever formulated in books of etiquette are so 
complete or cover all possible cases so fully 
as these few words in that immortal chapter : 
[ 265 ] 



Cl^e pUni^ttv of Comfort 

'*If I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, 
and if I give my body to be burned, but 
have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love 
suffereth long, and is kind ; love envieth 
not ; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed 
up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh 
not its own, is not iDrovoked, taketh not ac- 
count of evil; rejoiceth not in unrighteous- 
ness, but rejoiceth with the truth; beareth 
all things, believeth all things^, hopeth all 
things, endureth all things." 
This subject is very important. We cannot 
pay too careful heed to our manners. Relig- 
ion is love, and love, if it be true and large- 
hearted, inspires perfect manners. There are 
certain conventional rules regulating one's 
conduct in good society, which everyone 
should know and follow. There is a place 
for etiquette, and no one has a right to ig- 
nore the formalities which prevail among 
refined people. But the essential element in 
all good manners is the heart. The love 
which Saint Paul so earnestly commends 
inspires gentleness, kindliness, thoughtful* 
[ 266 ] 



la^annerjsi 



ness, unselfishness, liumility, good temper, 
self-control, patience, endurance of wrong-, 
and all the graces. A daily study of this one 
chapter, the thirteenth of First Corinthians, 
with hearty and earnest effort to get its 
teachings into the heart and then to live 
them out in all life's relations, would ulti- 
mately change the most faulty manners into 
the beauty and gracefulness which belong 
to all true Christian life. 
Some persons are greatly hindered in the 
cultivation of politeness by their shyness. 
A great deal of rudeness is unintended ; in- 
deed, it is altogether unconscious. All that 
is needed to cure it is thoughtfulness. But 
we have no right to be thoughtless. Want of 
thought is only a little less blameworthy 
than want of heart. A man says, when he 
learns that some word or act of his gave 
great pain, "I didn't know that my friend 
v/as so sensitive at that point." If he had 
been more thoughtful he would have known, 
or at least he would not have spoken the 
word or done the thing which hurt so. We 
[267] 



Ci^e ^inimv of Comfort 

never know what burden our neighbor is 
carrying*, how tender his heart is. If we 
knew, we would be more careful. 
In seeking to have our manners thoroughly 
Christian we need to bring every phase and 
every expression of our life under the sway 
of the love of Christ. It is easy enough to 
be gentle to some men, for they are so 
kindly in their spirit, so patient, so thought- 
ful, so generous, that they never in any way 
try us. But there are others to whom it is 
hard to be gentle, for they are continually 
doing or saying things which would nat- 
urally irritate us and excite us to unloving 
and unlovely treatment of them. But our 
manners should be unaffected b}^ anything 
in others. It was thus with our Master. His 
moods were not dependent on the influences 
which played upon him. Rudeness to him 
in others did not make him rude to them. 
Wrong and injustice did not dry up the 
fountain of love in his heart. He was as gra- 
cious and sweet in spirit and manner to the 
discourteous and the unkind as if they had 
[ 268 ] 



ittanneriEi 



shown him the most refined courtesy. If we 
have the mind that was in Christ Jesus, we, 
too, will be unaffected by the atmosphere 
about us. Love beareth all things, endureth 
all things, never faileth. 

Cardinal Newman has sketched the char- 
acter of a gentleman, in the Christian 
sense, in words that it is worth while to 
quote : 

''It is almost the definition of a gentle- 
man to say he is one who never gives pain. 
. . . He carefully avoids whatever may 
cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those 
with whom he is cast— all clashing of opin- 
ion or collision of feeling, all restraint or 
suspicion or gloom or resentment — his 
great object being to make everyone at 
ease and at home. He has his eyes on 
all his company. He is tender tow^ard the 
bashful, gentle toward the distant, and 
merciful toward the absurd ; he can recol- 
lect to whom he is speaking ; he guards 
against unreasonable allusions or topics 
that may irritate ; he is seldom promi- 
[ 269 ] 



Cl^e pLini^ivv of Comfort 

nent in conversation and never weari- 
some. 

'•He makes light of favors while he does 
them, and seems to be receiving when he is 
conferring. He never speaks of himself ex- 
cept when required to do so, never defends 
himself by mere retort. He has no ears for 
slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing 
motives to those who interfere with him, 
and interprets everything for the best. He 
is never mean or little in his disputes, never 
takes an unfair advantage, never mistakes 
personalities or sharp sayings for argu- 
ments, or insinuates evil which he dare not 
say out. . . . He has too much sense to 
be affronted at insult. He is too busy to re- 
member injuries and too wise to bear mal- 
ice. ... If he engages in controversy 
of any kind, his disciplined intellect pre- 
serves him from the blundering discourtesy 
of better though less educated minds, who, 
as with blunt weapons, tear and hack in- 
stead of cutting clean. 

"He may be right or wrong in his opinion, 
[ 270 ] 



jEanner^ 



but he is too clear-headed to be unjust. He 
is as simple as he is forcible, and as brief as 
he is decisive. Nowheie shall we find greater 
candor, consideration, and indulgence. He 
throws himself into the minds of his oppo- 
nents, he accounts for their mistakes. He 
knows the weakness of human nature as 
well as its strength, its province, and its 
limits." 

The best school of manners is the school of 
Christ. The best culture is heart culture. To 
be a Christian in the fullest sense is to be a 
gentleman or a lady of the highest type. The 
worlds standards are worldl^^ ; the Beati- 
tudes give the heavenly standard, which is 
infinitely better. 

** Let the old life he covered hy the new, 
The old, old part, so full of sad mistakes ; 
Let it be wholly hidden from our view 
By deeds as white and silent as snowflaUes, 
Ere the earth life melt in the eternal spring. 
Let the white mantle of repentance fling 
Soft drapery about it, fold on fold. 
Even as the new snow covers up the old.^^ 
[ 271 ] 






[ 273 ] 



If I had the time to find a place 
And sit me down full face to face 

With Tny better self that cannot show 
In Tny daily life that rushes so : 
It might he then I would, see my soul 
Was stumbling still toward, the shining goal, 
I might be nerved by the thought sublime 
If 1 had the time ! 

Richard Burton. 



[ 274 ] 



CHAPTEB TWENTY-FIEST 




T is well always to be 
optimistic about people. 
Jesus was. He never gave 
anybocV ^P as hopeless. 
Evil returned bj^ those 
who received his kind- 
ness never checked nor lessened the flow of 
kindness in him. The fountain of love in 
him was not dried up by the bitterest en- 
mities and persecutions. The joerson who 
wTonged him was the very one he sought 
the earliest opportunity to befriend. When 
a man had proved unworthy, taking advan- 
tage of his compassion and unselfishness, and 
returning only ingratitude and injur}^ the 
next one who came with his needs did not 
find the heart of the Master closed, or the 
flow of affection checked, but met as tender 
love as if that great heart had never received 
[275 ] 



Cl^e j^inimv of Comfort 

a hurt. In all our Lord's dealings with others 
we find this abiding love, with exhaustless 
patience, sympathy, hope, and help. 
The Master would have all his followers 
like him in this. He has taught us that we 
are to love as he loved. "As I have loved 
you," the new commandment runs. We are 
to show to others the same forgiveness that 
we ask from God for ourselves. We are to 
love our enemies as Jesus loved his ene- 
mies. When others use us despitefully, we 
are to pray for them, instead of resenting 
their unkindness and cherishing bitterness 
toward them in our heart. 
This is one point at which we need to keep 
most careful watch over our own life. We are 
naturally disposed to resent wrongs done to 
us and to be affected in our own disposition 
by the treatment we receive from others. 
When we have denied ourselves and made 
sacrifices to help another, and he shows no 
appreciation, no gratitude, the danger is 
that the warmth of our love shall be chilled, 
and the flow of our kindness checked. 
[ 37G ] 



I^ijcicoiiragementjs for iiinDnejSjs 

The old teaching was that one shoukl for- 
give another three times. Peter thought he 
was taking a great stride forward when he 
suggested that a Christian should forgive 
seven times. But Jesus set the standard far 
beyond Peter's, saying, "Not seven times, 
but seventy times seven." That is, forgive- 
ness is to be exhaustless. We are never to 
weary of exercising it. However often one 
may repeat his offence against us, we are 
still to be ready to forgive and forgive. The 
same is true of patience, of compassion, of 
kindness, of all goodness. The love in our 
heart is to be unfailing, like a spring of 
water which flows unintermittingly. 
Yet there are many things to discourage 
kindness, to make the kindly disposed re- 
strain their gentle impulses and withhold 
their hand from ministry. Ingratitude is too 
common. Too often those we help, even at 
much cost to ourselves, prove unworthy. 
Nothing comes of our efforts to do them 
good. They promise to do better, but soon 
are back again in the old paths. They take 
[277] 



Ci^e iHmi^tr^ of Comfort 

our favors and enjoy our gifts, and pay us 
with neglect or injustice. Too frequently 
those for whom we have done the most make 
the smallest return. It is eas.y in such ex- 
periences to conclude that it is not worth 
while to continue to show favors or to deny 
ourselves to do others good, since nothing 
comes of it — nothing but disappointment. 
In the matter of helping with money, there 
is special discouragement. There are per- 
sons who are ready always to assist others 
in time of need. But perhaps no other form 
of kindness proves quite so unsatisfactory 
as this. In the fewest cases do gifts of 
money bring back a return of gratitude. 
The acceptance of such help seems to have 
a sinister influence upon the feelings. Not 
many retain afterward as close friends those 
to whom they have given financial assist- 
ance. Many good men who begin dispensing 
money with a free hand, truly interested in 
others' troubles and eager to assist them, 
meet with such discouragement in the effect 
of their gifts upon those who receive them, 
[ 278 ] 



^ijScowragemeiTtjs for l^mttne^js 

tliat the fountains of their charity are at last 
dried up. Not only are they led to decline to 
give further help to those who have proved 
so ungrateful, but, as a consequence, they 
harden themselves against all such appeals 
for help in the future. As a result, when 
really worthy objects of benevolence are 
presented to them, there is no answer of 
S3^mpathy. 

These are suggestions of the things which 
discourage kindness and check the flow of 
benevolence. In ancient times in the East a 
common practice among tribes at war was 
to fill up each other's wells. Every well thus 
rendered useless was a public blessing de- 
stroyed. Like crime against humanity is it 
when a well of kindness in a heart is 
stopped. The world's need and sorrow are 
the losers. The thirsty come to drink where 
before their want had been satisfied, and 
are disappointed. 

But the most serious consequence is in the 
harm which is done to the persons them- 
selves whose love and compassion are thus 
[ 279 ] 



Ci^e 0iinimv of Comfort 

restrained. One of the great problems of 
Christian living is to keep the heart gentle 
and sweet amid all the world's trying ex- 
periences. Nothing worse could happen to 
anyone than that he should become cold 
toward human suffering, or bitter toward 
human infirmity and failure. 
Jesus gave us in his own blessed life the ex- 
ample of one who lived all his years amid 
ingratitude and enmity, and yet never lost 
the sweetness out of his spirit. He poured 
out love, and men rejected it. He scattered 
kindnesses to-day which to-morrow were 
forgotten. He helped people in sorest need 
and distress, and they turned about and 
joined his maligners. He came to save his 
nation, and they nailed him on a cross. 
Yet amid all this rejection of his love, this 
rewarding of good with evil, of love with 
hate, the heart of Jesus never lost a trace of 
its gentleness and compassion. He was just 
as ready to help a needy one on the last day 
of his life as he was the day he set out to 
begin his public ministry. He wrought a 
[ 280 ] 



jBimnva%tmmt$ for EinDnejSjs 

miracle of healing on an enemy the night of 
his betrayal, and when being fastened on 
his cross prayed for the men who were driv- 
ing the nails through his hands. 
A legend tells of a youth who had so blotted 
the divine grace out of his soul that one day 
he flung on high a dagger meant for God's 
heart. And the answer of heaven was, a 
hand upon that dagger's hilt, then five 
drops of blood from Christ's wounds to 
cleanse the guilt. Love is always the divine 
answer to human sin. The answer to the 
crucifying of the Son of God w^as redemp- 
tion. So love, more love, should be our an- 
swer to all injury, to all wrong, to all injus- 
tice and cruelty, to all ingratitude. No evil 
returned for our good should ever be per- 
mitted to discourage us in the doing of 
good. 

Whatever failure there may seem to be in 
our ministry of kindness, through the shut- 
ting of lives against it, our heart should 
never lose any of its compassion and yearn- 
ing. One writes of finding a fresh-water 
[ 281 ] 



C^e i^mi^tri? of Comfort 

spring close beside the sea. Twice every 
twenty-four hours the tides rolled over it, 
burying it deep under their brackish floods. 
But when the bitter %vaters rolled out again, 
the spring was found fresh as before, with 
no taint of the salt sea in its sweet stream. 
So should it be with the heart of love. AVhen 
the tides of unkindness, injustice, or cruelty 
have swept over it, it should emerge unem- 
bittered, patient, long-suffering, meek, rich 
still, in its generous thought and feeling, and 
ready for any new service for which there 
may be opportunity to-morrow. 
That is one of the great lessons Jesus would 
teach us. The secret of such a life is to 
have and ever to keep in us the heart of 
a little child. Instead of allowing our spirit 
to grow bitter when our kindness has been 
abused, when our love has been repaid with 
hate, we should take the first opportunity to 
repeat the kindness and the love, thus over- 
coming evil with good. The Master said, 
" Love your enemies, and pray for them 
that despitefully use you, and persecute 
[ 282 ] 



M^coma^tmmt^ for liintjne^^ 

yoii." That is, if you have an enemy, one in 
whose breast is bitterness toward you, he is 
the very man you are to love. If anyone has 
used you badly to-day, he is the very person 
you are to pray for to-night when you bow 
before God. 

Someone may say that this is impossible, 
that no love can endure rejection and unre- 
quiting" day after day and lose none of its 
warmth ; that no kindness can meet unkind- 
ness, continually, and yet keep all its warmth 
and generosity undiminished. But St. Paul 
tells that love suffereth long and is kind, 
seeketh not its own, is not provoked, taketh 
not account of evil, beareth all things, en- 
dureth all things, never faileth. Christian 
love is not an earth-born affection — it is born 
out of heaven, out of God's own heart. Hence 
it is immortal, its life is inextinguishable, 
and it cannot perish. Alfred Austin writes; 

Yet love can last, yet love can last. 
The future he as was the pasty 
And faith and fondness never know 
The chill of dwindling aftergloio^ 

[ 288 J 



Ci^e jB^xnimv of Comfort 

If, to familiar hearth there cling 
The virgin freshness of the spring, 
And April's music still he heard 
In wooing voice and winning word. 

If tohen autumnal shadows streak 
Tfie furrowed brow, the wrinkled cheek, 
Devotion deepening to the close, 
Like fruit that ripens tenderer grows; 
If though the leaves of youth and hope 
Lie thick on life's declining slope. 
The fond heart, faithful to the last, 
Lingers in love-drifts of the past ; 
If, toith the gravely shortening days 
Faith trims the lamp, faith feeds the blaze. 
And reverence^ robed in wintry white, 
Bheds fragrance like a summer nighty 
Then love can last I 



[284] 



I^uttma atoat CIjtlDtiS]^ Cl^tngjs 



[ 285 ] 



When Hook back upon my life nigh spent ^ 
Nigh spent^ although the stream as yet flows on^ 

I more of follies than of sins repent^ 

Less for offence than Love's shortcoitnings moan. 

With self, Father^ leave me not alone — 
Leave not with the heguiler the beguiled ; 

Bes'inirched and raggedy Lord^ take bade thine own: 
A fool I bring thee to be made a child. 

George MacDonald. 



[ 286 ] 



CHAPTEE TWENTY-SECOND 

putting ateaf Ci^tltit^]^ Ci^tngis 




HERE is a wide difference 
between childlikeness and 
childishness. Childlikeness 
is commended as very- 
beautiful in life and dis- 
position. The Master ex- 
horted his disciples to become as little 
children, and said that until they would do 
so, they could not enter into the kingdom of 
heaven. The finest things in character are 
childlike things — humility, simplicity, trust- 
fulness, the absence of scheming and am- 
bition — guilelessness. 

But childishness is something altogether 
different. It is something to get as far as 
possible away from, and not something to 
cultivate. It is one of the things w^e are to 
put off and leave behind as we grow into the 
strength and beauty of mature manhood. 
Instead of being a noble quality, the mark 
[ 287 ] 



Cl^e piinimv of Comfort 

of rank and greatness in spiritual life, it is 
the sign of weakness, of unmanliness, of 
puerility. 

Childisliness in a child may be endured. 
One is expected to be a baby before he be- 
comes a man. Indeed, it is abnormal to miss 
being a child, to be mature as if full-grown 
when one is still an infant in years. " How 
old is your friend ? " asked one man of 
another. ''Let me see," was the reply, *'he 
was fifty when he was born, and that was 
thirty-three years ago. He is eighty-three 
now." There are such people. They are never 
young. They have no childhood. They miss 
the gladness of the care-free days and start 
away on amid the feelings and ways of ma- 
turity. 

But such a life is not beautiful. Precocity 
is deformity, monstrosity. The truest child- 
hood is the one that is most childlike. We 
are forbearing with childishness in a child. 
We do not grow impatient with it. " He is 
only a child," we say in apology for actions 
and words and ways which are not beautiful. 
[ 288 ] 



But when these childish things appear in 
one who has come to manhood in years, we 
find no excuse for them. They are blemish- 
es, marks of immaturity. We ought to leave 
them behind us when we pass up into the 
larger, maturer life of manhood. We have 
good authority for saying that when we are 
children, we speak as children, we feel as 
children, we act as children ; but when we 
become men we put away childish things. 
Yet there are too many people who keep 
their childish ways after they are grown up. 
For example, pouting is not uncommon in 
quite young children. Something disap- 
points them, and they turn away in sullen 
mood, thrusting out their lips and refusing 
to speak to anyone or take part in what 
their companions are doing. It is no wonder 
that the other children in a party jeer at 
such puerile behavior in one of their num- 
ber, ridiculing him with taunting epithets. 
The lesson of good-naturedly bearing slights, 
hurts, or defeats usually has to be learned 
by experience, and the lesson is a long one. 
[ 289 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

It need not be wondered at, therefore, if 
young children are sometimes slow in mas- 
tering thto sensitiveness in this regard. We 
may have great patience with them. Imma- 
turity is always faulty. An unripe apple is 
not usually svv^eet. Unripeness, however, is 
not blameworthy. It is but a phase in the 
progress toward ripeness. 
But every now and then — and not so rarely, 
either — we find full-grown people who have 
not got beyond the pouting phase. They are 
very genial and happy in their relations 
with others while nothing occurs to im- 
pinge upon their self-esteem. But the mo- 
ment anyone seems to slight them or to fail 
in proper respect for them, when one ap- 
pears to treat them unkindly, or when some 
scheme or i^roposal of theirs is set aside, in- 
stantly out go the lips in a childish pout, 
down come the brows in a bad-tempered 
frown, and the offended person goes off in a 
fit of babyish sulks. 

This spectacle is not uncommon among 

young people in their relations with each 

[ 290 ] 



other. There are some Avho demand absolute 
and exclusive monopoly in their friendships. 
They are ardent in their devotion to the 
person on whom they fasten their affection, 
but that person must become wholly theirs, 
scarcely treating any other one respectfully, 
certainly showing no cordiality to anyone. 
If the object of their attachment fails to be 
absorbedly loyal, the doting friend pouts 
and sulks and whimpers, "You don't care 
for me any more!" Such conduct may be 
tolerated in children, but in young iieople 
who are i3ast the years of childhood it is the 
token of a sickly and most unwholesome 
sentimentality. 

A beautiful friendship is one that is gener- 
ous and trustful, not exacting and unrea- 
sonable in its demands, that is willing and 
glad to see others esteemed and honored, 
and sharing in affection and regard. Yet too 
many people are selfish in their friendships, 
not only demanding the first place, but in- 
sisting that no other one shall be admitted to 
any second or third place, even that no one 
[ 291 ] 



Ci^e piinimv of Comfort 

else shall be treated with common courtesy. 
Such persons are not fit to have friends. 
Even the most childish child rarely shows 
such a spirit. Envy and jealousy are most 
unlovely, and are unworthy of anyone, es- 
pecially of anyone who bears the Christian 
name, and are certainly to be set down 
among the childish things which should 
be put away by all on becoming men and 
women. 

There are other manifestations of feeling and 
disposition which should be left behind by 
all who grow up into maturity of life. St. 
Paul names many qualities which have no 
rightful place in a Christian life and w^hicrh 
should be put away — anger, wrath, malice, 
railing, shameful speaking. There are many 
good people, good in the great features of 
life and character, who are very hard to live 
wdth. They are thoughtless, ungentle, un- 
controlled in speech. They lack the graces 
of kindliness and helpfulness. AVhile they 
are honest, true, strong, upright, they are 
wanting in the refinements of life which in 
[ 292 ] 



putting ^toa^ C]^ilDi0]^ Cl^mg^ 

the last analysis are essential to real lov- 
ableness of character, and which make a 
person winsome, agreeable, comx3anionable, 
and pleasant to get along with in intimate 
relations. 

Yery much of the unhappiness of human 
lives is caused, not by cruel wrongs which 
crush the heart, but by infinitesimal unkind- 
nesses and irritations which fret and vex 
the spirit continually. A thoughtful woman 
says very truly : '* Taking life through and 
through, the larger part of the sadne&s and 
heartache it has known has not come through 
its great sorrows, but through little need- 
less hurts and unkindnesses ; not so much 
through the orderings of providence as 
through the misorderings of humanity. 
Look back and you can readily count up the 
great griefs and bereavements that have rent 
your heart and changed your life. You know 
what weary months they darkened. There 
was a certain sacredness and dignity, like 
the dignity of lonely mountain-tops, in their 
very greatness ; and looking back, if not at 
[ 293 ] 



Ci^e 0iini^tv^ of Comfort 

the time, you can often understand their i^ur- 
pose. But, oh ! the days that are spoiled by 
smaller hurts! Spoiled because somebody 
has a foolish spite, a wicked mood, an un- 
reasonable prejudice, that must be gratified 
and have its way, no matter whose rights, 
plans, or hearts are hurt by it. There are so 
many hard places along the road for most of 
us, made hard needlessly by human selfish- 
ness, that the longing to be kind with a ten- 
der, thoughtful, Christlike kindness grows 
stronger in me each day I live." 
It is not expected of a child that he be al- 
ways thoughtful — the lesson usually has to 
be learned, and the learning of it takes years 
and long experience. But when one has 
come to maturity, it is certainly time that at 
least one has begun to grow kind and con- 
siderate. 

Not infrequently is a childish spirit mani- 
fested in societies and associations, where 
members are chosen to official places or ap- 
pointed on committees, or shown other hon- 
ors. There are likely always to be some 
[ 294 ] 



among' the number who keep in the best kind 
of mood while they are filling any position 
of honor or authority, but who cannot como 
down gracefully from the official rostrum 
when their term is ended. The descent from 
this elevated position to the level of com- 
mon membership is too much for their meas- 
ure of magnanimity. They act as if they felt 
that they should be continued in office in- 
definitely ; and when some other one is 
chosen in turn to wear the honor which by 
the grace of their peers they have worn for 
a term, they take it as a personal matter 
and feel aggrieved. Sometimes they display 
their hurt feelings publicly ; sometimes they 
say nothing, but go about afterward with a 
martyr-like air, as if they were patiently en- 
during a wrong or an injurj?-. In either case, 
they probably do not take an active part 
thereafter in the work of the organization, 
pouting" sometimes the remainder of their 
days. 

These are only illustrations of a most un- 
happy spirit that is much too common in 
[ 295 ] 



Cl^e piM^tvv of Comfort 

the world. We all know how such conduct 
mars the beauty of manliness. Nothing is a 
better test of character and disposition than 
the way one meets defeat or bears injury. 
" Blessed are the meek " is a great deal more 
human beatitude than we are wont to think; 
Commendation is sweet, but we show a piti- 
able weakness if we keep sweet only when 
people are saying complimentary things to 
us or of us, and then get discouraged and 
out of sorts when the adulation fails to come. 
There is a good teaching which counsels us 
to prefer others in honor, and when a young 
man has had a term as an officer or a com- 
mittee chairman in his society, he ought to 
be delighted to yield the place to another, 
and should go back into the ranks with the 
best of cheerfulness to work more earnestly 
and beautifully than ever in the unofficial 
place. 

Let us put away childish things forever. 
Let the young people begin to do so very 
early. If you find the slightest disposition 
in yourself to pout or sulk or be envious or 
[ 296 ] 



jealous, or to play the baby in any way, you 
have a splendid chance to do a Christlike 
thing. Will you do it ? 

** I like the man who faces what he must, 

With step triumphant and a heart of cheer ; 
Who fights the daily battle without fear ; 
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust 
That God is Ood ; that somehow, true and just 
His plans work out for mortals ; not a tear 
Is shed when fortune^ which the world holds 
dear, 
Falls from his grasp ; better, with love, a crust 
Than living in dishonor ; envies not, 

Nor loses faith in man ; but does his best, 
Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot. 

But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest 
To every toiler ; he alone is great, 
Who by a life heroic conquers fate, ' ' 



[ 297 ] 



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